Together they can walk and fly as whole and different, but in awe of what the other is. Proud to be there for each other with that certain thing between them, that makes us stop in our tracks with our jaws at our knees, mouthing off: I want to love like that! With that magnificent Wild upon my arm free to fly. How gorgeous and scary and humbling would that be? Reminding me of my humanity and how fierce or fragile I can be -- if he flew away forever from me.
"Have you ever thought of getting divorced?" He sounded tinged with something green.
"Of course." Dawn was cautious. "It's just..." She paused. "Easier said than done." She looked at Mica. "Despite our own 'monochromatic' relationship, we are truly wonderful friends."
She was a weak yellow tone.
"But is just being friends, enough? From all that we've talked about, don't you want to find true happiness? That passion you have always yearned for?"
"Well, generally I am happy..."
Mica stopped abruptly and looked at Dawn with a strange look. He then sort of rolled his eyes and continued painting -- he was wrought with many colors.
"He's a fool." Mica said, after a bit. "Taking you for granted."
"Foolish, maybe, but I know he loves me."
"Oh yeah?" He laughed. "I wish you could hear yourself." Mica said quietly but with dark tones in his voice. "I think you're just scared."
"What about you?" asked Dawn. "You've got a girlfriend." Her voice had a tone.
"Yeah." Mica answered flatly, and his eyes went dark. "That's interesting too. We're not working out so well. I live with her, but we seem like nothing more than roommates."
"Then -- why do you stay with her?"
"Convenience, I guess."
At this point Dawn had walked over next to Mica, carefully watching him work.
"I guess you're ready to be done when you're ready?"
You can speak frivolously about how much you love someone and can tell your sweetie sweet nothings and I love you all the time, but if you do nothing to back it up, then what is it really? In other words, Love is not frivolous or careless -- and it is certainly not lazy.
When the moon is full and radiant, the song she pulls out of us might go something like this: The Wild in us wants out as if stirred from a sleep, out of deep lava flows, from the throes of core to uproar, and soar with supernovas in a cosmic union. Alchemic, poetic -- magnifying in full bloom, the full moon pours forth heart-source Divinity: a luminous light-fire creation flame.
Here’s a thought. Stop fucking and return to romance. Romance is like the Yoga of love. The meditation that builds a strong foundation that is fulfilling. There is wisdom there. Let the fucking happen within the realm of love. It would mean so much more! It would feel so much more satiating... Love will sacrifice desire in order to see deeper for someone else. Desire doesn’t give a fuck about love; it just acts without thinking.
Wet, our bodies swelled against each other with a perpetuating force that felt self-sustaining -- and again, annihilating. Oh, that dense intensity of alchemy between you and me! A sort of energy that tantalized and taunted saying: "Do it… I dare you. Unleash that wild thing beneath your skin. Let it sin!"
I want to dance for you, with you. I want to create life and make love, for I am your conduit to creation. But alone, this phenomenon has no power, because I need you to unveil the path that travels there, for you are the key and I am the locked doorway to all that is heavenly.
I want you like red wants to ride the tail of a hawk flying high in the sky, seeing everything from a superhuman distance. Distances that go beyond what is rational or normal to our common perceptions.
Warriors understand a deep seeded sense of LOSS. They know that loss forms the foundation for which a warrior stands. And in this loss, this sacrifice—she learns what it is to love and is given the opportunity to recognize the complete wisdom that comes from sacrifice.
A light beam goes unnoticed until there is a boundary laid for it to be seen; a platform with which to dance upon, a cosmic stage. The light of the sun would go unnoticed if it had not a beautiful sphere of blue to throw itself upon and kiss with its radiance.
Once I was born. Once I will die. And once in that small window of time there will have been a life lived by a person named: me. And perhaps it could be asked once: Did she allow all of life? Did she leave it just a little better than she found it?
When Eve ate the fruit from The Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil was she really being disobedient? Or was she doing God’s bidding by introducing God to the world? Perhaps she was the braver of the two?
"We rely upon the poets, the philosophers, and the playwrights to articulate what most of us can only feel, in joy and sorrow. They illuminate the thoughts for which we only grope; they give us the strength and balm we cannot find in ourselves."