I've been talking to Gina recently more and more. I read her this poem and it touched, though she also sounded a bit shocked/surprised by my reading it to her as well:

I want to give you something, my love,
for we are drifting in the stream of the world.
Our lives may be carried apart.

Beautiful is your life, your path long, and
you drink the love we bring you at one draught
and turn and run away from us.

You have your play and your playmates.
What harm is there if you have no time
or thought for us.

We, indeed, have leisure enough in time
to count the days that are past,
to cherish in our hearts what our
hands have lost for ever.

The river runs swift with a song,
breaking through all barriers.
But the mountain stays and remembers,
and follows her with his love.

Overall I am feeling more at peace though I still have my moments of extreme anxiety attacks. I am involved with C N V C (Center For Non-Violent Commuinication) and the people there for the most part have been extremely helpful to me. Gerry Spence's book about "Arguement" has really set into me. The more I listen to his talk about male-female commuinication the easier life is for me.

Well I better close and will do so with another poem this one by the ever inspiring Thich Nhat Hanh:

Don't say that I will depart tomorrow-
even today I am still arriving.

Look deeply: every second I am arriving
to be a bud on a Spring branch,
to be a tiny bird, with still-fragile wings,
learning to sing in my new nest,
to be a caterpillar in the heart of a flower,
to be a jewel hiding itself in a stone.

I still arrive,
in order to laugh and to cry,
to fear and to hope.
The rhythm of my heart
is the birth and death of all that is alive.

I am a mayfly metamorphosing
on the surface of the river.
And I am the bird
that swoops down to swallow the mayfly.

I am a frog swimming happily
in the clear water of a pond.
And I am the grass-snake
that silently feeds itself on the frog.

I am the child in Uganda, all skin and bones,
my legs as thin as bamboo sticks.
And I am the arms merchant,
selling deadly weapons to Uganda.

I am the twelve-year-old girl,
refugee on a small boat,
who throws herself into the ocean
after being raped by a sea pirate.
And I am the pirate,
my heart not yet capable of seeing and loving.

I am a member of the politburo,
with plenty of power in my hands.
And I am the man who has to pay
his "debt of blood" to my people
dying slowly in a forced-labor camp.

My joy is like Spring, so warm
it makes flowers bloom all over the Earth.
My pain is like a river of tears,
so vast it fills the four oceans.

Please call me by my true names,
so I can hear all my cries and laughter at once,
so I can see that my joy and pain are one.

Please call me by my true names,
so I can wake up
and the door of my heart
can be left open,
the door of compassion.