bus to olympia journals

December 12, 2011

to gaze upon a lagoon made for giants being cradled by the oldest (strangest) mother all lit about by the advent of night means the greatest unloading my body can ask for. i am alone but this feels how i imagine music to a musician. there along the coast the ridges and blue mass that i’ll never touch have married this sea. is it a lake? a canal? no matter. the country bus is rocking and in front of me, one seat ahead, i see jeffrey’s head toss and sway. so i’m not alone then. to the right is a grandmother with clasped hands and a scarf knotted so pristinely she must have lived this style for half a century. so i’m not alone. but he sleeps and she is dreaming with her eyes open.

to the left of me is a woman who told me ‘signomi’ when i sat, because she will not move her splayed knees to give me my half of our two seats. Well. a left lower leg asleepnumb and a spine curled toward the aisle like an eel is the least of what i can offer my elder. and a greek woman. and a kind, warm, alive woman. …even if the bus ride is 5 hours long and i have to pee.

to the left of us both is this enormous wall that blocks any setting sun on the other side of it. these cliffs jut and build and i’m almost aroused. something inherently sexy and masculine about those spears of cypress taking up white space. sharp, hard edges make me feel something like how i imagine being impressed feels. it’s a fondness and attraction to something different from you. i’ve never in my life known such vigor as the angles and brute strength that make this display all mountain.

I’VE never taken half the horizon without a second thought. is this what it’s like to be a man?

all i know for sure is that when a valley appears, or some other such break in the massive hard wall, i feel like i want my bones buried here. if i had a will begun, i’d demand my bones or ashes to be returned deep into the hills and earth here. finally reunited with the heroes that have blazed inside my heart, whispered near my temples; who opened and kissed my eyelids so i would look at those things they all long to see one last time.

one more time.

wait for me.

whoever i can possibly love in this life will have to share me with a humanity that has not given up for a good amount of thousands of years.

it’s orange now and the lake or sea looms sweetly to the right, past the old woman, who is sitting up and seeing more than anyone else on the bus. including her snoozing husband. she knows everything. i just know it. well, i feel it. she knows everything and she is looking. i am guessing and maybe projecting but it seems like the peaks and the deep female dips far far far to the right, beyond the water, when touched by our journeying eyes, pleases her. still she looks. her head tilts, swivels. her core twists, tenses, bends into the seat and up off it.

her mouth hasn’t told me a thing, but it is soft. her hands are strong. what is it that her eyes are telling her mind?

what can Sophia herself glean from a path of the country bus ride to pyrgos from athens for what must be her thousandth time upon it?


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