Being Is Bewildering



Sheltered from the sun as the bees and birds circle overhead, I sink my fingers into the warm earth wishing to take one step closer to her. Removing each digit one after the other, I rub the soil on my right forefinger across my gums as if it were cocaine. I’m in the place she goes to at night- the one where she lies bathed in moonlight- and as the soil glides over my flesh I can feel her so intimately. The animals watch my every move, and as I take off my clothes and mirror her nocturnal actions they can sense my madness just as they sense hers. Are these actions performed in an effort to be closer to god? Or perhaps to lose the shackles placed on us by an unfree world that does its best to limit behaviour it deems strange and dangerous? Touching myself just as she did, the animals draw closer. With baited breath, they stick out their tongues and taste the energy oozing from my flesh. I’m not as beautiful as she is, and the sight of my self-abuse lacks the grace of her own wrist wizardry, but it’s energy and oneness that interests them most, not the sweat of our samey organic shells. Lost to the world and lost to everything, the passage we seek awakens with a single shudder, and for one brief moment when our vision fails and heart’s miss a beat, so the doorway opens.

A Journal for Damned Lovers on

A Journal for Damned Lovers on

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