full of animal glow

excerpt from ladders to fire by anais nin:


the color of the day, he color of byzantine paintings, that gold which did not have the firm surface of lacquer, that gold made of a fine powder easily decomposed by time, a soft powdery gold which seemed on the verge of decomposing, as if each grain of dust, held together only by atoms, was ever ready to fall apart like a mist of perfume; that gold so thin in substance that it allowed one to divine the canvas behind it, the space in the painting, the presence of reality behind its thinness, the fibrous space lying behind the illusion, the absence of color and depth, the condition of emptiness and blackness underneath the gold powder. this gold powder which had fallen now on the garden, on each leaf of the trees, which was flowering inside the room, on her black hair, on the skin of his wrists, on his frayed suit sleeve, on the green carpet, on her green dress, on the bottle of perfume, on his voice, on her anxiety -- the very breath of living, the very breath he and she took in to live and breathed out to live -- that very breath could mow and blow it all down.

the essence, the human essence always evaporating where the dream installs itself.

the air of that summer day, when the wind itself had suspended its breathing, hung between the window and garden; the air itself could displace a leaf, could displace a word, and a displaced leaf or word might change the whole aspect of the day.

the essence, the human essence always evaporating where the dream installed itself and presided.

every time he said he had been out the night before with friends and that he had met a woman, there was a suspense in lillian's being, a moment of fear that he might add: i met the woman who will replace you. this moment was repeated for many years with the same suspense, the same sense of the fragility of love, without bringing any change in his love. a kind of superstition haunted her, running cross current to the strength of the ties binding them, a sense of menace. at first because the love was all expansion and did not show its roots; and later, when the roots were apparent, because she expected a natural fading and death.

this fear appeared at the peak of their deepest moments, a precipice all around their ascensions. this fear appeared through the days of their tranquillity, as a sign of death rather than a sign of natural repose. it marked every moment of silence with the seal of a fatal secret. the greater the circle spanned by the attachment, the larger she saw the fissure through which human beings fall again into solitude.

the woman who personified this danger never appeared. his description gave no clues. jay made swift portraits which he seemed to forget the next day. he was a man of many friends. his very ebullience created a warm passage but an onward flowing one, forming no grooves, fixing no image permanently. his enthusiasms were quickly burned out, sometimes in one evening. she never sought out these passing images.

now and then he said with great simplicity: "you are the only one. you are the only one."

and then one day he said: "the other day i met a woman you would like. i was sorry you were not there. she is coming with friends this evening. do you want to stay? you will see. she has the most extraordinary eyes."

"she has extraordinary eyes? i'll stay. i want to know her." (perhaps if i run fast enough ahead of the present i will out-distance the shock. what is the difference between fear and intuition? how clearly i have seen what i imagine, as clearly as a vision. what is it i feel now, fear or premonition?)

helen's knock on the door was vigorous, like an attack. she was very big and wore a severely tailored suit. she looked like a statue, but a statue with haunted eyes, inhuman eyes not made for weeping, full of animal glow. and the rest of her body a statue pinned down to its base, immobilized by a fear. she had the immobility of a medusa waiting to transfix others into stone: hypnotic and cold, attracting others to her mineral glow.

she had two voices, one which fell deep like the voice of a man, and another light and innocent. two women disputing inside of her.

she aroused a feeling in lillian which was not human. she felt she was looking at a painting in which there was an infinity of violent blue. a white statue with lascivious medusa hair. not a woman but a legend with enormous space around her.

her eyes were begging for an answer to an enigma. the pupils seemed to want to separate from the whites of the eyes.

lillian felt no longer any jealousy, but a curiosity as in a dream. she did not feel any danger or fear in the meeting, only an enormous blue space in which a woman stood waiting. this space and grandeur around helen drew lillian to her.

helen was describing a dream she often had of being carried away by a centaur and lillian could see the centaur holding helen's head, the head of a woman in a myth. people in myths were larger than human beings.