Aristotle, bottles, cranberries, dreaming my dreams, drowning, existential, half full/half empty, light ship, love, message in bottle, metaphysical, phenomenology, poetry, samuel L jackson, sea, shipwreck
I. The Bottle
Glass half full or empty, I don’t give a care;
I’m a bottle.
and before i met you, i felt like an empty bottle.
The kind that, when you submerge it under water,
the rush of the pressure difference is so strong
that it desperately sucks in all the water it can.
it fervently rushes in, almost violently.
you can see this miniature cyclone occurring inside.
swirling circles of rapid white water.
it’s like i was going to burst when i was submerged in you.
i love feeling so full.
i’m so full, in fact, that there are all these little bubbles filtering out of my head now.
it tickles and the sound and feeling of them popping makes me tingle.
Please don’t squeeze me, lest you plan to drown me again to refill.
II. The Message
i’m a message in a bottle.
you gently wiggle me out of the long neck that held me captive,
with a circular motion, millimeter by millimeter…
carefully, so not to crumble any words i have to share…
and after minutes of curious, careful unravelling, i read:
“i don’t know how else to reach you.
My hands are forlorn, desperate, and feel so….empty.
My body keeps heaving and wrestling with every perfunctory task,
and, wistfully, i imagine this note arriving to you
whilst you carelessly kayak,
casting your rod for some fish you won’t even eat.
meanwhile, i’m starving for your response.
I need you. It’s just how it is.
Please meet me, like you promised…
i’ll be out in the woods, waiting in the moonlight,
where the only frequency we can hear is the earth.”
WELL, it took you long enough to read me. JESUS!
finally, i can breathe again.
i feared Hades’ hand was upon me.
it’s been a long seven years stuck in that contraption-
rich in carbon dioxide and condensation.
and by God, they warned me about the idling thoughts.
thankfully, gone are the days of reciting verse
whilst bobbing along in the sea.
i was feeling so….sea sick, for lack of a better term.
it’s so nice to stretch out and see your face looking over me.
such is the life of a message in a bottle.
III. The Light Ship
i would’ve liked to say a little more
explain myself a little more
do some things that lovers get to do….more than a little more.
the message in the bottle is not some distressed SOS.
no, not at all, love.
it’s the light ship. it’s the light ship you sent me.
you called it “attention to detail,” but i call it the big, BIG picture.
it’s metaphysical. aristotle thought it, too.
that eternity is God producing motion by being loved.(Wikipedia told me so)
and that ship is moving.
ships that save.
ships that move.
you moved me. Christ.
you moved me!!!
here it is. like some enantiomer, i’m blasting it back at you.
i’m a light-beam of eternal bliss, of eternal happiness.
it’s eternal ecstasy, mother fucker,
and i speak that with the passion that only Samuel L Jackson can really evoke.
you didn’t know me and now you do…
and i’m out there.
i’m dreaming my dreams with you, like the cranberries sang.
if you want me, i’ll be here.
i’m in the sea. no fuck it. it’s bigger than that.
i am the sea. I’m moving you!
you sent me…me.
i am the lightship.
i get it now. i get it.
i never felt like i was everything.
and now, i do.
thank you for beaconing me.