Wednesday, 27 May 2009
Your ears are just blocked between the fluid's hands. The element prevails in its softness, welcoming into its womb your thoughts, cradling them for an instant. So fragile that your head emerges to leave the embrace of a sudden death.
The air welcomes you with the sound of the navigating birds into the breeze.
Summer morning, your body is still numb. You hardly remember yesterday and you surely cannot bear in mind your ideas for the new day to come.
Your skin is soft and swollen by the intense kiss of sleep, the dreams that were cradled into that head have just been erased by the maternal hug of the sea.
The fire in the light god of the sky is falling over you, envelopping your innocent skin, protecting you from the darkness in your previous thoughts.
You look into your mother's eyes, deep beyond your own vision of yourself on her surface. You can see that you move onto her, she modulates you and creates whatever forms you can portray about yourself. Stay longer into that image and you will be able to see her there sustaining the whole substance of your life.
You get closer to yourself, hands almost reaching the ones on the water, lips closer to your own mirror, your heart touching gently the heart of the perennial reservoir of love.
The moment you kiss the image reflected on the wavy element, you get into a different realm of thought. The truth is that you no longer see yourself in there, but somehow it doesn't really matter to you. It is so comfortable in here. You let yourself free into this womb, protected by the liquid of love.
You fall progressively into the tide's dance, and the rhythm of internal music leads you to the bottom. The sand is your back now, and you can look at the other end of your image, there where you thought you were. Your mouth is open now and new ideas flow inside you. The notions of time and space are now yours, but there is without any sense to try and use them for anything in particular. You just want to feel them forever inside your throat. You are being filled with all that gives any sense to your life.
Those watching from the blue roof are dry of any divine life. Just as you were, they poured their hollowness onto the surface of the sea in desperate call for nurturing.
You watch them ask for help, as you always did before this july morning.
They think they know what, they are drown to ignorance and decay. Their teeth are polished by the stream of the desert, the sand performing a ritual of tribal trepanation inside their minds. Desperation is a needle, and no blood can quench its thirst for erasing the sole foundation of our minds.
The sea is your bed, the water your mattress, your solace in times of death.
Satiated, inflated, swollen by the ecstasy of life you will slowly flow back to surface again. One day, one life, one night the moon will be your only mirror, the water will drop out from you and the night will welcome you into her own womb.
And there, free from everything you ever were, you will tell me all the secrets of our existence. Calm, full, and inspired by your rebirth.
from the touch of water below
and the kiss of the dreamy moon above
Posted by Bohemian at 09:59