Before you knocked

Before you knocked on my door
before we talked, before we laughed and knew
each other to be human
in the moment before our intersection
there was only me: a piece of crumpled paper.

I was filled with the crumpling of paper
incomplete and hopeless ideas aborted and abandoned
I was, everyday, choosing to abort myself

in the moments before that knock I was ready to quit.
I was ready to give up on my adventurous song
and fly to the security of people who know me, or knew me once.

After that knock.
After EG's tears. And the shaking of hands (not fists)
I went to sleep. I was sick and that knock was heavy
and tiring

And this is something that I know:
When I awoke I wasn't sick anymore. I breathed easily and had no soreness in my throat or chest. But that which is more there was no crumpling of bed sheets, there was no hopelessness in me.

I sat and ate dinner and said out loud to my home, "what now?" And I was still uncertain so I said, "forget it. Go back to sleep. You might still be convalescent and need more rest." But my heart felt round and said "if you do that then you have to quit your job on Monday and prepare to leave Japan" and I said, "I can't succeed in Japan. All there is for me here is loneliness, a friendless isolation. I have been here all this time and I still have nothing." And then my voice came loudly "You haven't tried." And then silently because I didn't dare think it, it embarrassed me so, if you do not try you are just a coward and these years of adventure were nothing but running for the fear that others might discover that cowardice.

What else choice was there but abortion I couldn't face...

and so I tried.

and then I saw Jupiter.

and then I met a man who could make a saxophone taste like honey.

And then I wrote. I wrote words and circles and lines. I wrote nothing about me I had so many things to write I couldn't rest my pen the floods of ink and paper filled me. And when I couldn't write I drew and when I couldn't draw I sang and when I couldn't sing I danced.

And then I danced and didn't look for mirrors.

and then I made two friends. two strangers.

And then, and it was so strange to hear and feel, I lay in bed and laughed out loud about something I couldn't remember. And then I dreamed in gold and purple. And in the colours I heard my brother laugh.

Before you knocked I had hopelessness.
now I have desire.
Before you knocked I had fear.
now I have dance.
Before you knocked I had excuses, explanations, justifications
and plans. Sorry I’m busy.
Now I have only life.

Before you knocked I thought I had nothing
but now I see I have the crumpled piece of paper

it may not be perfect or beautiful
it may not change lives or save lives or end lives or begin lives
it may not even be more than a crumpled piece of paper with a drawing on it of a ham sandwich
but it is something, and I have it.