"The Tao that can be told is not the eternal Tao.
The name that can be named is not the eternal name."
[Tao Te Ching (Chapter 1), Lao Tse]

I think it's interesting to see myself reflected in the eyes and words of others. In a way, I think it's the only way to really come to understand yourself. It's impossible to be objective, to step outside of oneself. One cannot be both the observer and the observed. But if you at least take the time to listen to how others speak to you, what they say, to notice how you interact, there is so much that can be divined. It tells me so much about myself, for instance, when a close friend offhandedly tells me something about myself of which I wasn't aware, in a way so casual that it's obvious that to them this is quite simply a part of who I am. It's not something that happens often, but it's something I very much cherish.
'...you keep saying that, but what is it you think I'll discover?...'
And in a way, I consider this one of the added benefits of getting into a new friendship or new relationship. As this new person gets to know me, so too do I discover what about myself stands out as obvious, what is shortly discovered, and what more subtle things about me it takes them a long time to ferret out. Generally, I'm not nearly so subtle as I might like, and there's really not much to ferret. I view myself as an open book, and yet, there are things, usually small things, that take some time to come to the surface. Is it because the subject is never breached, or because I make an effort, however small, to hide them? Hard to say in some cases.
'...you always shift the topic off yourself. How come we never talk about you?'
I've spent the past two months getting to know my new lover. I think I've gotten to know her quite well, and she me, and at a very accelerated pace, much akin to the every-day/desert-island-mentality that went on in summers past when I worked at the cadet camp in Greenwood. We live right around the corner from one another, so the opportunity to see each other every day is there, and we tend to take advantage of it. We've run the usual gammut - the honeymoon period, the occassional faux-pas, the crazy-monkey-sex, the late-night talks, the romance, the awkward revelations - and I think we've settled into a pretty comfortable existence together.
'...I think I understand all your relationships except one...'
In the process, I've learned a bit about myself, but moreso, I've learned a lot about my relationships with other people. Liza-Ann's from a very tight-knit family, and she has a number of good friends. Her questions and observations are keen, and often penetrating, even if she doesn't intend them to be, and so she sheds light for me on things I'd not spent a lot of time considering. Her impact on me, and on my journey of self-discovery is measurable, and already.
'...I don't think you respect him...'
She's also served to inspire me, though if you asked her she'd probably disagree. I'd said some time ago I was looking for a muse, and I think she was expecting to find me writing aplenty as our relationship progressed, perhaps with our relationship as the source of inspiration. But her impact on my creative tendencies has been felt in other ways. I've written two poems (I'll post them soon), both of which came quite quickly (one made from one of those clever little sets of refridgerator magnets, immediately after she presented me with it), learned and folded a veritable horde of origami, particularly flowers, in a complete revitalization of my interest in the art, and her presence, and the presence of her daughter, Olivia, in my life have forced a whole new path of introspection not readily visible from the outside, but certainly felt within. I'm spending more time not just with her, but with other friends as well, less time sitting in front of a computer by myself, and a lot less time surfing the channels late night in the vain hope of something worthwhile but which I never find.
'...she was not at all what I expected...'
Oddly, in all this, the one thing I don't think I've expressed particularly well, creatively or not, to her or to the world, is how I feel about her.

But not because it's so complex that even my vocabulary can't find the words, but quite the opposite: because it's so simple, an unnecessarily over-complicated idiot-scholar like me can't state it that succinctly.

But I'm working on it, P'u.