Texada Island, British Columbia
I am 26. I have been ill for almost 6 years. I live on Texada Island, BC. I have been on medical leave from my MA thesis for 3 years. I used to be a bagpiper and a private pilot. I have had to give those things up. I am still an artist, calligrapher, singer, and stained glass artist. I tutor UVic students over Skype in Greek and Latin.
If I recovered today I would go into the forest and not come back till I was fit again.
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I’ve no taste now to introduce
The topic that revolves my mind
– Nay, not a topic; there’s no kind
Of order governing the loose,
The sultry, savage, things I find.
For in my skull there lurks a mist
Which cankers every spark of thought,
Which knows but miseries forgot,
And succours sins I would resist,
And cheapens triumphs I have sought.
Would I could communicate
With some barbaric entity,
For I could swear that he or she
Could yet have far more sympathy
With creatures thus aflame like me
Than any gentler company.
For they would fain to damp, abate,
When what I want is rushing on,
Nay, I would fain myself be gone!
And walk through frost-bit, stirrless dawn,
To walk until my face were drawn
And hollow; ‘til just my spirit shone.
Fatigue works like the slow and seeping
Consciousness that one has strayed
By following the glow of creeping
Ghost lamps in a star-struck glade.
The sleeper’s likeness unto death
Is also oft remarked upon
When naught but low and steady breath
Attests the sleeper’s life flows on.
Then – oddest of all three sensations –
Re-entering ‘the world’ at last;
Absorbed in wondrous captivations –
Remembering the world is vast.