Alpha and Omega and Alpha All Over Again

A special shade of red

I didn’t think I’d ever write something involving you again, you never cared for my writing, especially when it involved you, but here I am and here it is, although I can’t imagine you’ll ever see it.  Alpha and omega and alpha all over again.

There are sad times that make one feel unworthy given all that one has and all that others around us lack, especially when such sad times are of our own making.  But sometimes our own making ought not to have been avoided and the decisions that have made us sad are the right ones.  Sometimes those decisions involve matters of the heart that echo in our souls and resound as hazy shadows and outlines of other paths we might have taken.  Other people we might have been.

I look around and then look inside myself where drowsing remembrances wake reminding me of other times, some happy, others, well, perhaps not as sad as today, but sad just the same, and I realize that those memories are crystal pieces comprising the puzzle of who I’ve become, perhaps hinting at why.  I stroke my old guitar coaxing half remembered reflections although the words are tangled and torn and mostly forgotten, but images form that won’t and shouldn’t go away.

Many of my memories have been long warded in a safe house nestled in my psyche, memories now seemingly preparing a welcome for their new brethren, those I’m trying to forget while at the same time wondering how; how I could possibly forget them, forget you.  Ambivalence and contradictions rule so that, of all abodes, that safe house is their most fitting resting place.  Not a tomb though, life of a sort rules there ruing past mistakes I’d probably make all over again.  Strange how little I’d change.

Subliminal melodies play bittersweet tunes, … somewhere.  I hear echoes they never made but which lie ever watchful, sheltered in thick blankets somewhere within the person who, for better or worse, I’ve become.  Sometimes I wonder if they’re real or if they’re just strange fantasies I’ve contrived.  So many of them start and end with you.  Strangely disembodied hopes and aspirations without beginnings so that they can never end.  Delightful delusions run their course.

Melancholy and nostalgia twined.  Stained old silver threads somehow rusted, surrounded by diamonds never set in rings, how fitting a non-beginning.  I’ll be well, probably all too soon, and I’ll forget the taste of love lived as well as that of love lost, just remembering that I once knew what it was like.  I’ll recall thinking of the twining of the sublime and the divine and that nothing else mattered, but it did, which is why I find myself mired in pools of quicksilver playing music in my mind.

I didn’t think I’d ever write something involving you again, you never cared for my writing, especially when it involved you, but here I am and here it is, although I can’t imagine you’ll ever see it.  Alpha and omega and alpha all over again.
_______

© Guillermo Calvo Mahé; Manizales, 2019; all rights reserved. Please feel free to share with appropriate attribution.

Guillermo Calvo Mahé (a sometime poet) is a writer, political commentator and academic currently residing in the Republic of Colombia although he has primarily lived in the United States of America (of which he is a citizen). Until recently he chaired the political science, government and international relations programs at the Universidad Autónoma de Manizales. He has academic degrees in political science (the Citadel), law (St. John’s University), international legal studies (New York University) and translation and linguistic studies (the University of Florida’s Center for Latin American Studies). He can be contacted at guillermo.calvo.mahe@gmail.com and much of his writing is available through his blog at http://www.guillermocalvo.com.

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