In one of my past lives (the one where I was unemployed, freezing, and creating a butt groove on my couch in Edmonton) I read a book of letters between Anais Nin and Henry Miller. In the preface of the book was an excerpt from Nin's diary, dated July 23rd, 1932. It meant enough to me that I wrote it down (circa January 20, 2000), and I found it today while flipping through the pages of the Phantom Letters.

Henry is in my being for good even while I so wisely contemplate the end of our love. I still see the friendship lasting, the almost life-long tie. So it looks to me today - as if Henry is going to be a part of my life for many years, even if he is my lover for only a few months.

I remember who and what I was thinking about the day I wrote those words down. And yes, the man I was thinking of that day has continued to be a part of my life, and for that I am grateful. I will see him married in less than a month. It's a pity they don't all go that way, isn't it?

I first read Anais Nin's Delta of Venus back in 1997. I had read some Oprah-esque list of who had what books on their bookshelf, and Venus appealed to me. It should be a staple in any woman's nightstand, believe me. And now I'm trying to track down copies of her diaries, which are proving to be more difficult to find than they should be. Looks like I may have to order them. I want them because I am fascinated by her relationship with Henry Miller and his wife June. The film Henry & June was based on these diaries - though I never saw it. For a spell it always seemed to be on some PBS station, but I always caught it halfway through.

If she was so famous as a diarist, do you think she would blog today? Heh. Interesting thought. Imagine the woman who wrote erotica for a dollar a page sitting in front of a computer, telling us about her love affair with Henry Miller and his wife, and some RSS feed advising us that she'd updated.

One of my favorite lines is from The House of Incest:

I turned too brusquely the corner and I bruised myself against my madness.

And this, which sums up more than you, my gentle readers, could ever know:

The moment I step into the cavern of my lies I drop into darkness, and see a mask which stares at me like the glance of a cross-eyed man; yet I am wrapped in lies which do not penetrate my soul, as if the lies I tell were like costumes.

LIES CREATE SOLITUDE.

And this, from Volume Four of the Diaries:

Anxiety is love's greatest killer. It makes others feel as you might when a drowning man holds on to you. You want to save him, but you know he will strangle you with his panic.

And this, which is perfect in every way:

I, with a deeper instinct, choose a man who compels my strength, who makes enormous demands on me, who does not doubt my courage or my toughness, who does not believe me naive or innocent, who has the courage to treat me like a woman.