Julio Peralta-Paulino

Clisure Dedicated to Shaina K. Some ancient writer that went by the name of Juenval talked about how wisdom and nature always agree. I haven't read that writer, but I stumbled upon a the quote, which I have paraphrased or borrowed, for it seems to sum up what I can only entitle as yesterday's melting point. I was with a young lady, and it was going on a couple of weeks before this today, which happens to be Friday, and there was something I found myself feeling, something that had me reeling for a little while. I mean, I kept the receipt and pretty much stopped doing that all over the place. See, there was something about her, something I, yes, even I can't put it into words. To say she's wonderfully beautiful would be vague, would be lazy. It might drive me crazy for the lack of information. Perhaps the better way to write it is to say that there is something divine in her, as there is in some of us, but maybe with her it is a bit more evident. Not everly so. Nothing that would make you fall to your knees at the sight of her radiance, but certainly my wisdom I am sure would with nature agree. They would concur that there resides a flame that could alight the fire of love. As it happens, especially in the cities, I was too much in the walking and talking and thinking about too many things to realize the romance I just missed. I had met an angel, a nymph, a tempting deity, a real woman with a nearly obvious spirituality. I had bought a poster that day, well two. And to be entirely honest I was utterly in love with her, and my love held within its hold something that tried to keep on reminding me of her. Clisure are a serious of climax formations following each other after a climate change. Sometimes, well, whenever I can, I dig walking in the rain without any umbrella; it makes sense to me on some level. If I am strolling somewhere, I don't cease my steps for falling water. In any case, something was changing in the climate that perhaps I could call the skies of my attention. I thought about her every once in a while, and I wanted to go where she was. Well, I always want to go there, but I wanted to see her, to see her again. Thursday, her yesterday, I went down and delivered myself reluctantly. It's just that my hair wasn't exactly as I like and my clothes were clorox stained, and so were my Converse All Stars. Still, something made me, moved me. I didn't have a choice. It wasn't after, well a few minutes into the walking away that I said to myself, "I don't feel anything. I'm not distracted. I'm not worried. I'm not - oh dear, could this be some sort of Jewish bliss." Everything felt perfect. If I had any good sense, I would have done exactly what I wrote in one of the stories I happen to be working on. Well, maybe not marriage, but at least to seek out that sensational sensation with some type of connection. It's no wonder much of the world prays to a Jewish woman. I found my melting point in a modern one, and it all makes me feel as free as the music that cannot be played on any instrument -- that can only be said on the invisible instinct that hears itself along with the music of nature and the heavenly humming that is a heartfelt wisdom.

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