23 December 2010

Photos of you

This yoga blog suddenly got real personal.
Yoga and meditation practices will return in time but right now I am submerged in the grieving process and retreating into the dark sweet solitude of my house.
Aloneness with the memories is crucial.
I write this without editing, it is raw and unpolished...

Wednesday 22 December 2010 - PHOTOS

It has been just over 3 days since that Saturday evening when I was told of your death.

You died 9 days ago.

I've spent the last 2 days combing through your Apple Mac Pro files, collecting all of your images and printing them out. You will adorn my walls soon Mark. I'm so grateful to you for taking these photos; you've captured and saved so many Mark moments and left me an invaluable gift to help me preserve and treasure your memory. Time will too quickly dilute those memories, I cannot stop that, but your photos will surround me and support me. You and I swam and frolicked in each other's love for a brief moment in time, now my house will become a temple, where I'll continue to swim in the sea of our memories.

On the table next to my bed is an image of you. You're looking down your nose a little with an air of superiority. I love this photo. It has strength. It excites me. At night I lay in bed, dim the light, and enter your soul through this photo. Sweet sweet honey love fills my heart and floods into my body. You have physically gone but your presence is tangible, you are here inside of me. I smile, and feel you laying next to me.
"I love you Mark Abbott". How many times a day did I say this to you Mark?
No container could hold the enormity of that love. We were overwhelmed by it's power and magnitude.
We were bursting.
You'd never felt such powerful emotion before, neither had I.
Every night now I hold your photo and say those words out loud, three times like a mantra.
"I love you Mark Abbott."
Wherever you are, I know you can hear me and know that love will never fade.

When I open my eyes in the morning, I look over and greet you. Yes you're still here.
I make coffee in my little kitchen. You loved that espresso coffee in the mornings, even though you'd rise before the birds, sometimes at 4pm and would have had at least one, maybe two ghastly instant coffees before mine. Waiting today for the slow drip of the coffee to come, I gaze at your photo on the shelf in my kitchen. You gaze right back at me from this one and we are together again somewhere deep beyond the space in my kitchen.

"I love you Mark Abbott". The words travel through time to wherever you are.

The love I feel for you gives me strength. But as I say it over and over, that changes and the unbearable sense of loss returns. Tears well up and flood my eyes again.

Yesterday I bought 6 photo frames, chose my favourite photos of you, put them lovingly in the frames and placed them carefully around the house; you smile cheekily at me in the bathroom; you talk to me in the kitchen; you are contemplating and thinking in front of the window where I am now sitting, a place you spent many hours at each day; on the mantle above the open fireplace your sweet sadness fills the frame.

In the hallway I've placed my favourite image, one of only two photos that I took of you; your eyes reveal the longing and the desperation of a man overwhelmed by his love and you are smiling your gentle smile. You were at my table, and we were so in love in each other's presence. The look on your face could only have been captured in my presence, in the fullness of that feeling we shared. I've placed a candle on either side of this photo.

The photo by my bed accompanies me into each dreamy night. Your penetrating gaze pierces through time into my heart. As I lay there and drift I dim my conscious mind and become receptive to your presence Mark Abbott. You move into my body and it tingles and shimmers as your soul caresses me from behind. Your arms are around me and I feel protected by your eternal love. I fall asleep under your gaze and in your embrace, and wake to find you still by my side.
Good morning Mark Abbott.
Across the room I see your shoes. Somehow they give me comfort and make me smile. You are still here in spirit. Your shoes, your clothes will remain where you left them for as long as I need to be seeing and feeling your presence. Perhaps months, perhaps years, perhaps the rest of my life.

Today I'll buy more photo frames and begin transforming the walls of my house into a gallery of your images. The essence of our love will be held tenderly in my heart and nourished daily by your photos until we meet up again Mark...

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