SamadhiMuse

                                         Balboa 10.30 AM
                                              8.15.85
                                         laying on the sand,
                                      in the sun.
                             My love,
                 Right this instant, right this minute, I am so
         happy.  If only I could freeze this moment in time, put
         it away and take it out when the dark moods come over
         me; when all the problems are weighing so heavily on my
         shoulders; when I forget all about my blessings; when I
         feel so desperate I just want to give up.  If only.
                 It is so beautiful and peaceful here, this
         little place on earth, this Balboa peninsula.  It must
         be one of the power spots you've talked about.  This is
         a place where everything smooths out.  This is where I
         come in the winter, holding hands with Aaron; walking
         on the pier; this is where I thank God for all the
         beauty, for my children, for my health, my
         intelligence, my independent spirit, for all the people
         who have left their mark on me, for all the people I
         love; this is where I know, somehow, somewhere there is
         a rainbow waiting for me.
                 This is where I'll come next winter to think of
         you, to ease the pain, which is eating at me already.
                 Oh, Babe; I love you so.  And it feels so good
         I want be swept away by that feeling.  No questions; no
         pain; no projection in the future, just love you, now.
         I want to look at you until my eyes can't see anymore;
         hold you until I don't know which skin is mine; love
         you until I can't feel anymore; I want to touch you
         until I know every line, every muscle so that I could
         recognize you by touch anywhere.  How sweet it is to
         kiss you; those sweet little kisses on your eyelids,
         the corners of you mouth, your forehead and temple, and
         then your mouth again, so fast you don't have time to
         kiss me back; holding you in my arms like a child; my
         child; my lover, my friend.
                 It isn't easy loving you, but somehow I am
         grateful for this love; for it is making me feel so
         full of life again.
                 Sweetie, how silly to write you this morning
         when I'll see you tonight but I just can't get enough
         of you.
                                      So there.
                                Love,
                             Me
                             --
                             --
        - letter from Lise.

— Copyright 1965-2008 by Dennis Gallagher —

                                        August 24.85
              When it's all over; when I'm dead; when my ashes
      have been scattered over Bullocks, I'll still be around.
              Recorded for posterity in the circonvolutions of a
      computer's memory.  Categorized under LB 1984, 85 and
      surely a bit of 86.  I'll be between RG. and KA., KM., and
      GO., the ones I forgot and the ones I don't know about.
      Slices of my life crossing his.  Words trying to transcend
      feelings, green characters on a gray screen.
              I wonder who will stumble onto those files. I
      wonder how much will transpire of the love, passion and
      magic that hangs in the air just now as I think of him.
              Perhaps it will all seem very pale compared to the
      poems of years to come and those of earlier years when his
      passion was burning out of control; for others.
              I'll be a small contribution, a shiny raindrop who
      fed him the water of life.  He's grown so much through
      women. They gave him love and pain, ecstasy and agony.
      They pushed him to the limit, backed him into corners,
      they ate him up alive and he loved them all.
              And I owe them.  The ones I read about with a knot
      in my stomach, and the shadows, beautiful unknowns whose
      influence I can only feel.  He's their legacy to me. Each
      of them a chapter in the book of his life.
              But now he's mine to hold for a moment.  And the
      added sum of his experiences comes through.  My gentle
      lover, knowing, tender, strong.
              Yet, already he's getting ready to leave me.  And
      I will send him away with tears in my eyes, a heart ready
      to break and pain in my soul and body.
              And for all the others who will hold him, I've
      made him richer, I've left my mark.  They will owe me too;
      and they won't know the price of loving him until it's too
      late; like me.
                                 - about Gallagher's women.
                                 - on a Saturday afternoon he's
                                   spending with his wife.

— Copyright 1965-2008 by Dennis Gallagher —