The one sitting next to me, the one name Jackie, is the one things transpire to. I stroll through the avenues of Boulder and stop to contemplate, perhaps on a routine basis, to gaze at the manicured stone covered buildings all standing in uniform with one another; I have heard of Jackie from a friend, and seen her name on friend’s Facebook pages, or in small exhibits. I like time, jewelry, arrangement of words, the armor and aroma of coffee in the morning and the messages from the Secret; it can’t fancy the same likings, but in a peripheral way I know if it were human it would understand. It would be aggrandizement to utter that ours is an unsympathetic relationship; I exist, let myself go on existing, so that Jackie can produce her art, and her art justifies me. It is no coincidence that I acknowledge that she has produced fine designs, but those designs cannot rescue me, perhaps what is essential to life belongs to no one, not even me, but rather to the taste of many. Although, I am destined to vanish, definitively, some part of me will live on forever in the on going tape of the past. Playing and replaying, I relinquish everything to her, though I am acutely aware of her optimism, and love for all that is good and positive.
The Mitchellets know that all great things are immortal; the written word remains ever present and the circle a circle. I shall continue to exist in Jackie, not as myself (if that it is true that I am worthy), but I identify myself less in a body form than in many others, or in the endless sound of lapsing waves beating against the shore. Minutes ago I attempted to unencumbered myself from her and traveled vast distances within the confines of my mind and juggled with the concept of my own identity, but the juggling belongs to Jackie now, and I shall have to conceive of new thoughts and games. Thus, my life is an endless journey, a game to be won, and I own everything and everything is owned, or to me.
I often ponder who typed each letter of this passage. Is this part of my reality or just a figment of my imagination?
