Candle Factory

Candle Factory

(manuel cortes castaneda)

Before you came into my life,  I would light a candle in my tiny room every night…but before the light could illuminate my dreams, penetrate my delirium, or brighten my sleepless nights, a blind hand, disembodied and wordless, would open the door, come into the room, put out the flame and hide the candle…

Then, with my eyes tightly shut, I would begin my exile under the bed. Bound by the sheets to the legs of my fear, I would invent numbers, unimaginable figures, lost paradises, strange beings that would suddenly pause to tighten the knots, wash my hands and, with utter abandon, press their ears to my chest, straining to hear the dying heartbeats.

But one day when I wasn’t (hiding) inside my pages, you came as if you had already come, as if you had always been there, never not been there, as if you had been by my side under the bed forever, there through the sleepless nights, within my dreams, inside my hallucinations, washing my hands, your heart beating in place of mine. And that day the candle stayed lit, the very same candle, the same flame, the same light, the light from your eyes, from your silence, from all your sleepless nights, and they were your dreams, your eyes, stoking the last remnants of dawn…

You came with your whole self and the shorn, battered child, by now nearly bald under the bed and still bleeding from wrists, ankles, and eyes, began to grow. And the rivers rose and the birds sang and windows were born to the night. Delicacies flooded the kitchen and they were yours, your smell, the taste of you, and the walls became bright with words and one day I saw you naked and I kneeled before you, naked as well, a disgusting mess, the way you had you found me one day under the bed, and I looked into your eyes. And for the first time I put out the flame and hid the candle for good.