Swimming in Swan Lake

I find it increasingly odd how moments surprise you, surpass you, catch you as they fragment you into a million tiny pieces. Ironically enough, these moments almost always end up being the In-betweens, Go-betweens or Tween’s of time: a split-second leading on to a minute, where you step out of your car to open the gate and somewhere in the span of those meandering 22 seconds you feel all of your senses rise up and answer a calling to something you can’t begin to explain.

A real moment of clarity almost never lasts more than a micro-chasm.
You are altogether too aware of the wind blowing in your face, of the blossoms serenading the air around you, and you can hear the faint strains of Tchaikovsky’s ‘Sleeping Beauty’ as you begin to hum “I know you, I walked with you once upon a dream, I know you the gleam in your…’ and just like that it is over and you make your way back to the car. Life and time start again. It’s kind of like staring into a fire, or at a candle…something about the flickering makes everything still and the stillness makes you stand out.

I find that I am craving Time-tweens more and more these days. I see myself as the connoisseur of in-between seasons, the accountant of go-between emotions and the tortured Time tweener of unwritten passages that blind me in all the precious split seconds that I have lost from my life. It is odd how we never stop to consider how many chasms of ideas we dismiss because we just happen to find them skulking in doorways, driveways, hallways and run away’s. I triumph as the troubadour of dreams and possibilities, coveting new thoughts and old things.

I think it best to surmise my current self with Swan Lake.
You see, I have this thing about Tchaikovsky.
I am in love with his soul.
Have been for quite some time now.

I believe it started when I was about fourteen and I first heard it playing on my grandfather’s computer as he was clicking away at a bridge tournament with his CPU. I remember that I was holding a tea-tray and I froze as I heard the strains of music through the door. The eclipse must have lasted a long time, enough time for the tea to turn cold and for me to face repercussions for said turning of tea tables. But what I remember more was being haunted…hunted by the music of the self proclaimed ‘Creator of Captivating Nightmares’. I remember sneaking into my grandfathers room while he was asleep that night and stealing that CD. I remember switching off all the lights in my tiny room and plugging in my headphones.
I remember listening to it over and over again at full volume until it consumed me.

That captivating nightmare never really ceases to capture my emotions and my fears. I truly believe that the First Act of Swan Lake engages every spectrum of human emotion. Those seven and a half minutes are a lifetime if one can see them, read them and feel them fully.

Today I ended up dodging work and spending the entire day with my mother in her new house. As we sat in here atrium, engulfed by that gorgeous in-between seasonal sentiment that is both Sun and Wind at the same time, she had Swan Lake running in the background. The magic flooded every doorway, every window and every locked lost yearning I didn’t know I didn’t know. The crescendo at the end of the first act actually prompted me to do something I have never done before. My mother and I were both sitting in creaky cane chairs and she was having her tea as I sipped my morning coke. We were both painting our toe nails letting the strains of sound flow through us as I found myself picking up a red vial. I realise that it is an odd progression to have to experience all of one's ‘coming of age’ moments at the age of 25 - seeing as my real-time coming of age was a decade squandered in limbo - but this just happens to be one of my bigger break through's. I have never worn red as a colour, not in anything.
I am strictly a Turquoise person.
Still I found myself finally break an unwritten proclamation I had bound myself to at the oh-so precocious age of seven: Thou shall never wear red nail polish.
Let it be Thought a Wicked Thing To Do.
Let that Thought Be Adhered To Hereafter.
Only loud, over-confident, ‘womanly’ women wear red nail polish. Thou shall never join the ranks of women who are confident in their appearance and their ability and/or desire to attract the opposite sex.

I like the fact that I came of age, listening to Tchaikovsky, espcially the gospel of Swan Lake. I have often wondered how I would translate Swan Lake, into words if I were given the chance. I have wondered whether Tchaikovsky’s chords would speak as unflinchingly as Dylan’s poetry or Leadbelly’s musings or Bowie’s brashness.

Today, this is what I heard:
(Act 1: Waltz - Translation)

It is the ‘stepping out’ of my shadow that scares me
I so lack the nobility that every seeker must possess in spades

And you whisper to me, crouched behind curtains of dances we never shared
I seek your face in a mirror I am too frightened to look at
And I know you long to corner me:
comb my hair,
sing me songs,
play me prayers

I recognise your hope,
It hides behind my hurt.
We both hunt for our humanity
.
We are skating along the stars,
Wearing our scars with pride
You catch me as I fly and it costs you your fall.
I am Lost in the Losing, Loving and Looking
So I will Run again, Hide again, Hate again.
And you will not stop me…again.

But I shall miss you.
As all the Others scavenge your soul for scraps of shelter
I miss you as you long to give of yourself to Someone…Anyone.
Someone Else, Anyone Else.

Their voices, their talking, their taunting
Is more yours now, than you were ever mine
And I stand silently, seeing myself slip and stumble in your eyes.
I simmer as I catch you finding the someone else
To translate for you the Me that I used to be with Us.

So now you shall wait,
Now you shall wonder
Now you shall wander.

No longer will I give of my madness to save you.
You are no longer worthy of the wonder in me.

But if I ask you to run with me,
From me,
For me,
Behind me,
After me,
To me…will you?

Meet me in my shadow
So that I can count your eye lashes
Meet me in my shadow
So that I can see the colour of your cravings

Be the You that knows the I in Me
There are no ‘I’s in Them.
We will be safe.
There will be no ‘We’ in their World.

So, make that choice… ask me.

I shall say yes…
I shall run, I shall scream, I shall fade, I shall follow, I shall flounder
…but I shall say yes
I shall send you my dreams in a basket
If you would hand me your hopes

… I shall say ‘Yes’.