Motorcycle Rally in South Dakota

The Secret History (2) · 24 April 04

I had never been in a boat in my life. Henry and Camilla went out with me- Henry at the oars, his sleeves rolled to the elbow and his dark jacket on the seat beside him. He had a habit, as I was later to discover, of trailing off into absorbed, didactic, entirely self-contained monologues, about whatever he happened to be interested in at the time- the Catuvellauni, or late Byzantine painting, or headhunting in the Solomon Islands. That day he was talking about Elizabeth and Leicester, I remember: the murdered wife, the royal barge, the queen on a white horse talking to the troops at Tilbury Fort, and Leicester and the Earl of Essex holding the bridle rein… The swish of the oars and the hypnotic thrum of dragonflies blended with his academic monotone. Camilla, flushed and sleepy, trailed her hand in the water. Yellow birch leaves blew from the trees and drifted down to rest on the surface. It was many years later, and far away, when I came across this passage in The Waste Land:

Elizabeth and Leicester
Beating oars
The stern was formed
A gilded shell.
Red and gold
The brisk swell
Rippled both shores
Southwest wind
Carried down stream
The peal of bells
White towers
Weialala leia
Wallala leilala

To Remember:

My future husband will:

• Dress up on Halloween
• Not be afraid to dance

People Just Like You

Floating · 16 April 04

I’ve been doing this strange thing lately… I’ve noticed it usually while walking alone, either in a shop or down the street, or while standing in line. My mind will start to wander a bit, as minds will do, but it always seems to drift off to the same thing- which isn’t a thought, specifically, but more of a feeling or an image. I start to imagine that I’m slowly lifting off the ground, lightly and steadily, like a balloon. My feet lift up and I go slowly, lazily twirling off into the sky, light as a feather, spinning happily like an astronaut and smiling down at the world I’ve left behind.

I’m not really sure what this is all about but it’s started to creep into my dreams as well. A couple nights ago I was inspecting the side of a red wooden building in the center a field when off I went, drifting up into the eaves of the building, the white nightgown I was wearing drifting around me like a ghost.

Not that I mind these reveries at all. I have, I think, more than my fair share of nightmares sometimes and these strange thoughts and dreams are a welcome respite. I wonder if this happens to anyone else? It would be interesting to talk about.