when you say nothing at all

Darling, thank you so much for thinking of me even while I wasn't able to blog. I've been thinking a lot about presence and absence, and of the "bitter gulf" (in 1.0's eloquent phrase) between corporeal mortal me, forever in every respect apart from you - save through whatever I can type in the form of an ardent message. Which may or may not ever achieve immortality (darling, do I care?) and may be much more ephemeral than I had imagined, since google's blogger provider lost forever my last two posts, for which I have no back-up. They weren't my best, and Lord knows there's more where that came from, though I did like the bit about transporting you & me from a buggy, hard Adirondack starlit campground to straight under rose-colored covers at the S.B. Hotel. Also, in case you missed the news - my speeding ticket got dismissed. Also, my name got spelled entirely correctly in someone's preface & acknowledgements, as I discovered when I googled myself. Now why do I feel compelled to repeat that embarrassingly narcissistic detail? I'll hasten to repeat, as I had in the mislaid post, it's something I rarely do. Though that reminds me - do you comment on HuffPo? Someone with your name does - though I don't believe it's you.

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“How do I know what I think until I see what I say?," wrote E. M. Forster. Which precisely encapsulates another reason - besides connecting with you ("only connect," in Forster's famous dictum) - that I like to blog: I am curious to see what my mind via fingers decorously occupied is up to.

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My love, another quote I read this week is from E.D.: “To all except anguish, the mind soon adjusts,” from letter #311, early November 1865. ("November always seemed to me the Norway of the year," E.D. incisively puts it in her letter.)

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It was a rough 21 hours, restless night, without the ability to blog - but you know, it wasn't so bad. I didn't feel anguished. Rather, I felt connected with you - telepathically. I had felt a touch of anguish in Brooklyn, missing you - but here I have no expectation. Blue skies. The southern Italy of intractable separations.

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"A Letter always feels to me like immortality because it is the mind alone without corporeal friend." - E.D., letter #330

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It's amazing how you can speak right to my heart
Without saying a word you can light up the dark
Try as I may I could never explain
What I hear when you don't say a thing
- Alison Krauss, "When You Say Nothing At All" (listen to this beautiful song, here)

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"the bitter gulf that lies between the death of a person as a biological organism and [her] potential immortality..." - 1.0

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from 24 March 2010 post...

I hit on [a] lovely silver gelatin print of [a] reclining damsel... I really like such images. What a beauty. She's so immediate, vivid, fresh, and yet without a doubt - the image is from the 1920s - she is now a fantôme. (What is your name, darling? You were lovely, and I hope you were loved.) Where can I find more such images? Though it's best to savor them one by one.

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Very many kisses. XOXO