Dimension Z

I love to read and to read widely. I have been in almost every corner of this earth thanks to reading. I read various genres of books from parenting, general knowledge, African folklore, autobiographies, fifty shades (I had to mention this trilogy of books as a category) and so on and so forth. But today I talk about books on love.

I have read hundred of books on this subject. Especially Mills & Boon in my primary and secondary school days. Add this to thrillers that come with stories of love. If Jackie Collins can twist love in her Lucky Santagelo series then it is worth reading about. When I read romance books today at my age, I read them for their fairy touch and to remind myself of love, courtesy and chivalry that exists in this world. Two cultures that come into mind that are full of the mentioned characteristics are that of the British and the French.

These two groups of people write about love in such descriptive terms that you can almost feel it. It’s amazing considering that the British are some of the coldest people I know of. And then I stumbled upon “The Bridges of Madison County” by Robert James Waller (set in the United States) a compelling love story told from a woman eyes. Though she insists it’s her true life story some critics say its fiction, others a story of an Italian lady.I strongly recommend this book to anyone who has any kind of romantic bone in their body. It is an excellent read.

And so in this cold weather, I post a poem from this book that I typed somewhere many years ago for your sheer pleasure. I warn you, if you are cynical about love you will not understand what “we” talk about.

Falling from Dimension Z

There are old winds I still do not understand, though I have been riding, forever it seems, along the curl of their spines. I move in Dimension Z: The world goes by somewhere else in another slice of thins, parallel to me. As if, in my pockets and bending a little forward, I see it through a department store window, looking inward.

I am moving through short grass in furs, with matted hair and a spear, thin and hard as the ice itself, all muscle and implacable cunning. Pat the ice, still further back along the measure of things, deep salt water in which I swim, gilled and scaled. I cannot see more than that, expect beyond plankton is the digit zero.

Yet I know it’s more than illusion. Sometimes a coming together is possible, a spilling of one reality into another. A kind of soft enlacing. Not prim intersections loomed in a world of precision, no sound of the shuttle. Just……………………..well……………………breathing. Yes, that’s the sound of it, too. Breathing .

And I move slowly over this other reality, and beside it and underneath and around it, always with strength, always with power, yet always with a giving of myself to it. And the other senses this, coming forward with its own power, giving itself to me, in turn.

Somewhere inside of the breathing, music sounds, and the curious spiral dance begins then, with a meter al its own that tempers the ice-man with spear and matted hair. And slowly-rolling and turning in adagio, in adagio always ---------ice-man falls…………………….from Dimension Z…….and into her.

Though I have skipped a few stanzas, don’t you think this is a beautiful and deep poem? Of love that is often untold in our modern society? If you still don’t get it, reread it.

Keep very warm,

Sojourner.

Did you get the poem?