Sometimes I wish you would ask me an awkward question, the one that closes my throat with all the words that pile up in a rush to get out, that can never express all that I need to say, the question that reminds me that I’m still alive, still feeling something, that I’m relevant to at least one other person in the world, that I’m not alone in that silence we share.
The binding is a ritual where one person asserts authority over another person. The context for the authority can be multi-layered, complex, or simple. A love potion, as an example of binding, works best when the target, the one being bound, already carries an affinity toward the one binding. When the binder also harbors a sympathetic affinity, the binding can even become permanent. Consider then the importance of establishing an appropriate context for the use of any binding, whether for good or ill.
Start in the open. Pick a direction, toward the mountains or the coast. Stay on the sidewalk until you see the billboard with indecipherable writing next to a smiling face. Duck under the billboard mindful of the broken glass. Around the discarded bicycle there is a wooden fence. Too tall to climb over, push your way under a spot where the slats are broken. The door on the other side is unlocked. The door squeaks open. Follow the corridor to an open area, over then left then over again, passed more doors that won’t open. Left again straight left then right this time. The door you are looking for is above you but there are no stairs here so you keep walking now down a ramp then under and to the right, left, straight, the walls narrow. Slide along the wall then crawl to another door that open to an elevator but it only stops at the floor above where you need to go. Another corridor, through a lecture hall filled with empty seats. Another passageway down and to the left again down and to the left. Straight, no, back the other way. Keep walking. Keep walking.
Some days I forget to feed the fish. He doesn’t seem to mind though. I haven’t heard him complain or anything. Come to think of it, I’ve never heard him say anything at all.
What is touched is felt before I feel it. What I hear is heard before we say it. What you see is seen by us the same, under a bright white full moon that also looks down on us. Gaze then and speak and reach and know what is known by both of us.