The Flame and the Crystal

Tonight I sit quietly in my room, deep in contemplation. In the kitchen stands a beauty who doesn't know her worth, singing with the voice of angels unbound. Whenever she sings, she sings my favorite types of song, ones of woe and triumph, tragedy and sorrow. The kind of music that makes my heart beat quiet and cool, a moment of truly being alive. This is her wont, her style, and it just happens to match my tastes perfectly. (We won't talk about her taste in movies or popular music however, that's a bit less enticing). She's been through a lot in her life, and it's left her fractured and broken in a lot of ways. But it's also shaped her into the most beautiful crystal I've ever had the good fortune to share my life with. And, gentle readers, for those of you who know my past, that is certainly words worth considering. But this post isn't really about her, the crystal. It's about where I feel I lay in the analogy. The flame. It sounds like a vainglorious position to put myself in, but I hope you will come to know I mean it with the deepest humility. She has thought herself a thing without worth for most of her life, and I love her in the only way I know how. Which is a complete mystery to her. She thrives in it, and shines even brighter than she did before. It is not often in my life that I feel myself out-shined. And, for once, I am content to live in her shadow, to marvel at this miracle of creation. But don't worry, this post isn't merely the sentimental ramblings of a love-struck fool. It makes me consider my position, and my feelings about myself. Here I am, burning brightly, shining in the feelings of her love, and the reflection of her own light prisming out across the velvet black. I know I have my own inner strength, but it's hard for me to feel it. Because right now all I want is to be here, in this moment, drowning in it, and let the future be damned. I don't want to do anything but go to sleep in this perfect moment, and let it be the last thing I remember. Contentment. Many of you have known me on the seas, as a salty old Captain, and there's one thing that that mindset has imbued in me. The knowledge that life is one great sea, with many ports of call, but the storms always come. They'll be coming again and again, and all you can do is hope to find a port in the storm. Some sailors have had good fortune, finding a home port with familiar waters. They learn every reef, every pool, every secret cove in the beautiful complexity of an island. And this, they call home. A stick and palm branch shack on the shore, looking out over the seas they used to sail. Not with regret, but with fond memories, and knowing they've found a place they'll be content. I envy them. Those who have found their shore, their small island in the ocean that they know intimately. I don't know how they do it, I don't know how they and the natives of that isle find an accord that invites them in. And maybe that's the failing of my thought. I see them as a visitor to a place larger and greater than they. But my analogy includes the life that surrounds the island, the day to day. The people they come to know, those who make up their family, their friends. It may seem a strange place to be in ones mind at the beginning of a relationship... But I want to find home. Maybe I've just lost the will to believe it exists. What I do know is that this particular island in my life is among the most beautiful I've found. Not just the lovely woman in my life, but the friends I have, the things going on in my life. All in all, it's rather nice here. Not without it's dangers, but what place of beauty lacks those? I don't know how long I'll be ashore, life has taught me there's no knowing that. I am, however, determined to make the best of my stay.