November 14th, 2008

If enlightenment is a spiral staircase, stretching from Infinity to Beyond, and each of us are ascending it with gracious, casual strides, feigning fear and attachment, just for the sheer bang of it…  Stop.  Right now.  Yes, just pause and check it out!  Where ARE you?  Where the fuck do you think you’re going?   No doubt, just where you belong… but do you remember, that you belong RIGHT HERE?  This rung, on this ladder… would you believe me if I told you this hovering moment, on this sacred rung… contained the entirety of the meaningless though entirely meaningful song and dance of Life?

Can I go there?   Can I become an exquisite little hummingbird, hovering, hungry and determined, yet entirely poetic and sensual around this bombshell flower of an enigmatic, black hole of a topic?  Dare I wet my lips of the eternally cascading, elusive and even clichéd nectar of the inquiry of the meaning of Life?  Yes!  I can do whatever I want, because this is my universe, right here, right now, and I make the rules! I am the lone rider of the popular vote.  I just thought about riding votes, because Mykael drove me home this morning, THIS MORNING!!!!  This morning was the poster child of crystalline.  This morning puts all other expressions of clarity, precision, miraculous manifest to shame.  SHAME.  But I will come back to that after I tell you about the horses.  We drove past Golden Gate Fields, as we entered the freeway.  This secret world of mythical equine beauty, tainted with exploitation and the understated shadows of humanity.  A cyclone fence, laced with anonymity inducing slats.   (Athena, babe, you’re gonna have to back off on the seizing attachment to being perfectly, poetically articulate right now… It’s causing quite an unsightly back up of expression.)  So there we are, merging onto the freeway, and me, entirely captivated, the way children are~ absorbed in the most yogic state of enwondered presence.  Athena Fixated Grace Heavenly-Body [Lazzeri].  My hungry eyes, glued to the fence, which is barely see-through.  The slatted cyclone fence causes the illusion of a reality formed entirely by shadow play.  Sillouhettes of solid, graceful power, in the form of thorough bred horses.  Most of them, jockeyed along at the laziest speed of canter.  I peer into this world behind the fence, and feel as though I am seeing into another dimension, entirely.  I feel like I am blessed with a hyper-sacred sight.  Behind the slatted fence, their motion is revealed to me as though it were a flip book.  As though it were a spontaneously combusting disco strobe light dance of equine grace.

As I drink of this incredible beauty, I can not distinguish what sets these beasts apart from myth.  What is the difference between a horse and a unicorn,…but a single horn.   A horse from a Pegasus?  …Just a pair of measly, pearlescent wings.  As far as I’m concerned, I peered into the Great Beyond this morning.  The great beyond the slatted cyclone fence.  This world we inhabit IS myth, and myth IS the world.  We are the angels and the demons, the deities we exalt and fear.

Ahem… Is THAT the meaning of life?  No way, Jose, I haven’t gotten to that juiciest of parts yet.  Because, I have to tell you of the crispness, in which the world revealed it’s self to me.  Yes, the world was a beggar, throwing its fragile, precarious, highly imperfect beauty at my feet!  It has been said by the torchy-jazz league of America that on a clear day, you can see forever.  Well fuck that.  I did NOT see forever on THIS clear day.  I saw just the bay area.  And yes, One could argue that in its most  pristine demonstration of Being, this morning, if One were to look hard enough, might be just able to make out the rough outlines and brutish whispers of a notion named Forever.  But trust me, just let it be enough that I SAW the bay area.  Let it be enough, too that I saw the ever so slightly deflated moon.  WAS it the moon, or had a very large, high society angel just spent a wild, irreverent night partying the way most people mistakenly assume only demons can get down, stumbled home thru the pale, ecstasies of dawn, across the bottomless dance floor of the sky, and still slightly drunk, the crystalline, stiletto heal of one of her regal shoes catches on a stray spray of spiraling galaxy, and she takes a spill that would give milk a run for it’s money.  A tough run… Her pearl necklace snags on a shooting star, and the large, moony pearls scatter, bounce about the multitude  of worlds in which she exists, and one, particularly large, smooth, round one rolls to a stop, right in our very own burning, baby blue sea of prayer-smoothed oblivion.

Mostly, though, what hijacked my eyes, kept them in a playful though intimidating head lock, was the bay.  I wish I could tell you it was “blue”, like my simpleton interpreter of a mind tried to tell me, but my soul’s vision knew better.  This bay was blue, but it was beyond blue.  It was beyond prismatic, full spectrum white.  It was the keeper of holy secrets that are strictly uttered in indecipherable flirtatious whispers.  It was pussy-sloshing harp music as played by the quintessence of autumn morning on water.  It was that shimmerine, fleeting window of epic pleasure, right before spilling over the edge of a Niagara Falls-caliber orgasm.  If God could gasp without actually making a sound…  The bay, spreading out like a vast, glowing carpet in my dream mansion that exists in the Heaven that those good olde Samaritans, the Christians tell of… A carpet spun of the innocent wishes of children.

My defenses were down.  I was just emerging from the birth canal of a ragged six hours of sleep.  I was still recovering from the most intimate fuck of my entire existence this embodiment around the dizzying human block.  (Which, by the way, MIGHT just BE the meaning of life~ chasing the perfect fuck.  Do you see me winking?)  (every time a bell rings… Athena gets her wink on!)  I’m gonna be brazen and jump tracks, because through out the course of this writing, I have indeed been on the prowl for the bottom lined, unapologetic core of the purpose of intimate partnership.  And I think I am getting closer.

I wonder~ how I can EVER, possibly write erotica, when I am entirely satisfied, to be thrust beastially into the missionary position, penetrated by my Beloved, and fucked OPEN, and opener and opener.  Because I love Mykael, like I have never loved another, because I trust Him with my life and my soul, I offer my body to him as pure feminine effulgence.  I surrender my orgasm to his command, further and further dissolving into the sentient, holy penetration of his cock.  (Suddenly I got self conscious, worried that someone would read this over my shoulder… what would that mean about me?  That I’m DIRTY?  Inappropriate?)  He took me to the edge… well, okay, I must admit that I intermittently worked, squeezed, sucked his cock off with my ravenous pussy muscles, in order to attain these sky scraping heights of pleasure.  (I worked a little too hard, by my insurmountable standards).  In the perfect story of the most sublime love making of the most x-rated rendition of Shiva and Shakti, I would have opened into completely surrendered fullness sooner… instead of contracting to get to a specific intensity and quality of sensation.  But alas, there we were, bathing in this most exquisite little pocket of paradise.  Primordial sounds were stirring from deep in the previously uncharted waters of my womb, cascading out of me, with involuntary innocence.  A state of pure Grace.  And, too, my motions came from the hallowed state of pure impulse.  When my mind stood up at the podium to speak, all it did was direct me to give myself over once again, to the artful, heart-full command of this man-stand-in-for-God.  Over and over again, I offered my heart, my pleasure, the well spring of the poetry that is Athena.  He penetrated my poem with his entirely trained, restrained fountain of a pen.  He co-authored the flood of poems that spilled in a casual and ecstatically screaming stream from my Meaning of Life.

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