Wednesday, April 13, 2011

The Hanged Man (Drowning Ed3m)

The Hanged Man, the card of sacrifice.  I know of this man very well for I have lived with him.  Of course, I have called him something else and I have painted the image of him for generations to be in awe with when I am long gone.  Something inside me (tilts head slightly) was awaken by his smell.  A memory flashed before me.  We were in line with the mockery of time.
“His smell reminded me of a good memory.” I have written this down many times in variety of journals.  I thought of him as good as of his smell.  I longed to be near him.   I waited and pondered and held such wondrous night capers about him.  Above all, I bid my time for I was in a relationship with another and I could not let this infatuation get the better of me.
Oh…the good girl that I claim to be held on to her virtue.  I did not even dare to put myself in a situation where my actions would be in questioned.  I kept my “hanged man” at a good distance, hoping that fate would not waiver me.  I was even honest with the one that hold claimed to me, by disclosing how I felt about our mutual friend.  My boyfriend was quite simple and easily swayed away from harmful intentions.
I did not want to hurt anyone; I just wanted to know how to go about my strong emotions towards the one who hanged so sweetly upon my tree.  The lover broke free from his duties and I (mouse) shall play while he (cat) was away.  Ode to my defense!  As much as I let the lamb unbutton my jeans, I hesitated, resigned and push his hand off.  So, when the cat did come back I squeakily told of my misdeeds and bowed my head for a pardon.
My friend sheepishly vanished and I cried for his return.  A month later I received a phone call that marked the beginning of my sad relationship with my drowning Ed3m (my hanged man).  This is nothing that I know in hindsight for I was very much within the spark of the flame.  I had a glimmer to what or relationship was going to be like but I did not listen to my soul’s chatter.
A year before my marked arrival on his doorstep I told him this fisher of a tale about how I knew him in a past life and how he was no good.  I also told him that we should not even bother to be friends because he really messed me up in that so called life.  Yes, I was surprise too that he actually still talked to me after that and that we ended up being together.  What can I say other than “I was drawn to him” and I honestly only wanted to just be able to love him even if it were to be from a far.
(Sigh.)  I respect the distance he put between us and I honor his silence from my life.
 I do not recall if I cried drawing him into or harder erasing him out of my life.  We shared but a short bitter-sweet time together and I would linger longer in that mist for another two years or so on; or less.  I let myself go haggard into my thirties; afraid that if the sun’s glitter a golden shine upon me I would wither away.  I still love him because my love is abundant and infinite.  We are better apart and shall never be as we were before the second of fulfillment turned into the years of emptiness.
The two years that I knew of my hanged man and the two years that followed I did learn some things about myself.  I am only on the built in ladder half way up from the hole that I dug myself into.  Well at least, I did not burry myself.  I am still learning.  I believe that we are truly magically beings for we can let go and yet hold on to so much baggage. 
Patchouli that was what he would put in his laundry and that was a fragrance that my good friend in high school wore and what the little store in the mall smelt like where I enjoyed working in.  He smelt like a good memory and I wanted to go there and stay there but reality brought me somewhere else.

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