Coincidences?
The marvel of the day after night, after
sleep-travel in one place, after stretching
the body out - its surrender.
The marvel that sleep is not
the quicksand it seems
to the child, that the raft of it
carries us into morning, and that
whatever made us weep yesterday
has been strangely visited without us
and, its terms, though unrelentingly
the same, lift our night-changed hearts.
The new day has been given
so whatever befell us yesterday
can be withstood, not as it was,
but as if we had perished
into it, and, despite horror or joy,
something miraculous could be
done with us that surpasses even hope,
which only wants ascension of the prospect
and not the helpless, dire turn - its
clang and echo.
From: What The New Day is For (Tess Gallagher)
It's been exactly a year. One year ago today, a black car drove down our long driveway. A familiar face emerged, a smile on his lips, and in his hand he held a stack of papers. Signed statements, releasing Mulder from the charges against him and reinstating him as a citizen of this country. We could travel, could fly, could work, could live.
Unless you've ever been on the run, it's impossible to really describe the emotions you go through on a daily basis. Before I fell in love with Mulder, I used to roll my eyes at the women who stuck by their men while they served time in prison. Once Mulder walked into my life, everything changed. Following him through fire was the easy part.
I did think about leaving more than once those six years we were on the run. When the charges against me were erased and I was again able to travel freely, we found a place to settle and then I left him there and headed to Europe. I needed to clear my head. And I missed him more and more every day. We are polar opposites yet so completely the same. We love each other, we want to kill each other, and some days we both wonder how it is we can live together and be together. We are not easy people to love and the stresses and traumas we have endured in the almost seventeen years of our relationship (if you consider our time together from when we first met) are more than what most people endure in 100 years of life. We've come through fire, abductions (alien and criminal), jealousy, ghosts, fungus, death, resurrection, murder, attempted murder, mind control, pregnancy, more abductions, brain diseases, being fugitives, and of course - the losses of Emily and William. It would kill lesser people. But somehow we've survived. Each new day gives us that much hope, even though we know there is more looming on the horizon. We no longer believe in coincidences - even if sometimes we will argue the idea to keep the other honest.
It is no coincidence that the FBI is permitting the X Files to reopen. It is no coincidence that we are hearing rumblings in the UFO community. It is not coincidence that we were given the chance to see William or that I encountered Natalie. I do not believe it is a coincidence that my cancer has returned. T-Minus four years to invasion. What happens then? Slaves to an alien force that has a race of super soldiers to take over the world? Do we form alliances with other resistance fighters? Do we surrender? What is it that these invaders want with us? And, at that moment, do we find the truth in the answers we seek?
A year ago today, I bought plane tickets to Jamaica. Today, we are sitting in a hotel room in Bucharest. He is stretched out on the bed, reading. I am by the window, watching the lights of the night twinkle in the chill outside. Today we toured the Palace and the conversation on the way back was peppered with a single question - if the syndicate were to have come back together, where would they hide? What unlikely place?
Here, in Bucharest? No, it's too easy.
But I don't believe in coincidences any more.
I do believe it was Marita we saw the other day.
And now, I wonder, why do I feel called here? Is it because I came through here once, on my travels through Europe and fell in love with the atmosphere or because of an urgency I have felt only once before?
sleep-travel in one place, after stretching
the body out - its surrender.
The marvel that sleep is not
the quicksand it seems
to the child, that the raft of it
carries us into morning, and that
whatever made us weep yesterday
has been strangely visited without us
and, its terms, though unrelentingly
the same, lift our night-changed hearts.
The new day has been given
so whatever befell us yesterday
can be withstood, not as it was,
but as if we had perished
into it, and, despite horror or joy,
something miraculous could be
done with us that surpasses even hope,
which only wants ascension of the prospect
and not the helpless, dire turn - its
clang and echo.
From: What The New Day is For (Tess Gallagher)
It's been exactly a year. One year ago today, a black car drove down our long driveway. A familiar face emerged, a smile on his lips, and in his hand he held a stack of papers. Signed statements, releasing Mulder from the charges against him and reinstating him as a citizen of this country. We could travel, could fly, could work, could live.
Unless you've ever been on the run, it's impossible to really describe the emotions you go through on a daily basis. Before I fell in love with Mulder, I used to roll my eyes at the women who stuck by their men while they served time in prison. Once Mulder walked into my life, everything changed. Following him through fire was the easy part.
I did think about leaving more than once those six years we were on the run. When the charges against me were erased and I was again able to travel freely, we found a place to settle and then I left him there and headed to Europe. I needed to clear my head. And I missed him more and more every day. We are polar opposites yet so completely the same. We love each other, we want to kill each other, and some days we both wonder how it is we can live together and be together. We are not easy people to love and the stresses and traumas we have endured in the almost seventeen years of our relationship (if you consider our time together from when we first met) are more than what most people endure in 100 years of life. We've come through fire, abductions (alien and criminal), jealousy, ghosts, fungus, death, resurrection, murder, attempted murder, mind control, pregnancy, more abductions, brain diseases, being fugitives, and of course - the losses of Emily and William. It would kill lesser people. But somehow we've survived. Each new day gives us that much hope, even though we know there is more looming on the horizon. We no longer believe in coincidences - even if sometimes we will argue the idea to keep the other honest.
It is no coincidence that the FBI is permitting the X Files to reopen. It is no coincidence that we are hearing rumblings in the UFO community. It is not coincidence that we were given the chance to see William or that I encountered Natalie. I do not believe it is a coincidence that my cancer has returned. T-Minus four years to invasion. What happens then? Slaves to an alien force that has a race of super soldiers to take over the world? Do we form alliances with other resistance fighters? Do we surrender? What is it that these invaders want with us? And, at that moment, do we find the truth in the answers we seek?
A year ago today, I bought plane tickets to Jamaica. Today, we are sitting in a hotel room in Bucharest. He is stretched out on the bed, reading. I am by the window, watching the lights of the night twinkle in the chill outside. Today we toured the Palace and the conversation on the way back was peppered with a single question - if the syndicate were to have come back together, where would they hide? What unlikely place?
Here, in Bucharest? No, it's too easy.
But I don't believe in coincidences any more.
I do believe it was Marita we saw the other day.
And now, I wonder, why do I feel called here? Is it because I came through here once, on my travels through Europe and fell in love with the atmosphere or because of an urgency I have felt only once before?