We almost don't need bodies to know each other. We don't need "in-person" to feel transecting rings of sameness, strength and history.On the 4th I wrote a status update on the great social networking timesuck (and joy) Facebook: Sarah Sarai bottles rockets.
Appropriate for the day, done, move on, get out, live your life, Sarah Sarai. Which I did. While walking to the life I was living that day a thought came to me, Why doesn't ** comment on that update?
** is a poet I've never met. ** is a poet with any number of poety accomplishments under her belt——book and university professor, to name two. I'd gotten to know a few FB poets through emails of life history, resentments, lusts, insights, but not **.
Still——through comments and photographs I've intuited a sense of the person and of comradeship {and this was before I read her work}.
Not long ago, a poet with whom I have emailed back and forth nailed me in terms of a specific commonality. We might not have signed on for this childhood happening——but now were sisters. Deep intuition was something I associated with friends and family——they may be thousands of miles away but I often get a sense, sometimes scarily specific, of what's happening.
That intuitive intersection—of piecing together the clues and spirit—is clearly part of my Internet repertoire. I noticed it through listservs I signed onto four or five years ago——new friends based on similar perspectives and born out in meeting. I suppose as a reader I could say, Duh. I've been responding to the written word since Beatrix Potter, but "authors" have a persona. Online friends most often don't.
When I got home the night of the fiery 4th I saw ** had commented on me as one who bottles rockets. Some small connection builds.
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