I'm sitting around my intellect, drinking writing, while brewing a pot of my own fiction. I've moved into Paolo Coelho's world for awhile, befriending his mystics and pilgrims and teachers and trying to find my own. My old friend Marion has become a Zahir, in Coelho's sense of the word. I see her in places we've been together and places where we've not. It's not an obsession as in Coelho's book. I don't seek her out, but by the same token, I'm not seeking to remove her from consciousness. I wonder about my motives. Possibilities include loneliness, love, lack of ambition, and lust. I don't really feel lonely, except for conversation on something other than football, wurflen, or skat and put in half an hour to an hour at Giovanni's to satisfy the minimum requirements of human contact. It may be lack of ambition, because of the amount of ambition I'm using in travelling, research, and writing. Her memory keeps me company there. It may also be love, but something akin to the Platonic. And it could just be all of the reading, two to three books a week, most of which entail some form of man-woman relationship.
The thought of a new relationship has occured to me, and although I've met some attractive and intelligent women in the last few months, I haven't felt a real attraction to any of them. The course ahead is to wait for the omens, follow the signs, let it fall into my lap. If it doesn't, then life remains uncomplicated. The perfect solution would be for her to just say let's go back to the way we were. I could handle that quite nicely. A good friend who likes to walk and travel and learn.
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