Tuesday, October 10, 2006


by Richard May

Unexpectedly I saw her in the distance. Although she was no longer young, she also saw me, still remembering me after so long. Our previous trysts were so passionate that embarrassingly I did not learn if her name was Amelia or Millicent. She walked unhesitatingly toward me in quick determined steps.

Marc Chagall painting with insets Marc Chagall painting with insets

We stood before each other again silently, floating above the Earth, like two figures in Chagall's dreams. This time we did not speak of philosophy, but of our love, or more properly, the objectless love which simply was. Her academic pedi-gree and Yichus were of less importance than her presence. She was Gautama and Rumi; I listened, drinking in her silence.

Ordinarily I do not initiate contact with a goddess, leaving that possibility to her. But her eyes looked up at me impatiently with clear meaning. I touched her gently and she brushed against me softly, purring. The longhaired old girl's calico fur was beautifully wind combed in the still autumn sunlight.

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