I used to dream in you,
swim in the sweetness dripping from your lips,
drown in its foaming effervescence.
Your heart was an open ocean in which I could drift,
cradled and fearless.
a voyager hungry for new discoveries.
Your open soul was as expansive as universes
holding all the stars and suns and milky ways and moons.. and constellations.
Your words fell as gentle as falling snow
and melted deep into the crevices
and recesses of my mind,
a light that found every corner of darkness
and illuminated it,
stretching it beyond any capacity it had ever known.
I used to dream of you
of your giving spirit,
before it became as barren as the desert floor..
offering only mirages..
teasing like merciless vultures
feeding on the carrion of my desperate heart.
You stole my dreams of you,
a highwayman riding his horse of delusion;
wearing the garb of Lancelot
and the image of Dorian Gray.
You rode in from the sunset
haloed by a crimson dust,
bearing your concealed sword..
.. a sword that pierced the dreams of you,
pierced the golden sun to its core;
its light dimming and fading until it was no more.
and the air was filled with a gray, hot wind;
an inferno bearing through,
and carrying the putrid scent of confusion.
I lay my head upon this pillow,
I am consumed by thoughts of you;
when you used to lie next to me,
your arm around my waist,
drawing me near..
Our hearts would find their rhythm
and beat as one.
Long moments later,
my eyes finally find their way
to that place of dark slumber;
where there is no pain,
no missing you.
that side of the bed
is full of books,
and memories of you.
The chill in the air lingers,
and it takes longer to get warm..
I patiently wait for darkness
to envelop me,
to warm me,
to soothe me..
like your arms once did.
the same dream every night..
I am in the ocean of your eyes,
standing upon its jagged rocks,
fighting the wind;
and I hold up a lantern,
in hopes that it may guide your way..
“I said to my soul,
be still and wait without hope, for hope would be hope for the wrong thing; wait without love, for love would be love of the wrong thing; there is yet faith, but the faith and the love are all in the waiting. Wait without thought, for you are not ready for thought: So the darkness shall be the light, and the stillness the dancing.” ~ T.S. Eliot
Within this solitude, I have grown in ways I never knew possible. I have delved deeper into the caverns of each chamber of this sacred abode we call the Heart, and discovered there is no end.. It is a perpetually incessant journey.
I continue to swim, propelled through this bloodstream, ~ this heart’s dream.. my tears becoming one with the ocean within the vessel that carries me forth.
Guided by a gentle hand, the inward immersion continues.. It is dark.. warm.. it envelopes me. I cannot see .. rather I feel, moving by the sight of faith.
There is safety in this sanctuary, the guiding hand a cord, the darkness a soothing, protective womb.
I inhale deeply — as I hear the voice whisper: everything is allegory pain is a sculptor (it keeps us upright) love is a painter (his brush divinely guided) lust is a cello… (but what good is an instrument without a song to sing?)
and I am ecstatically transported to Tagore:
“I have spent my days stringing and unstringing my instrument
while the song I came to sing remains unsung.”
I exhale cathartically — Releasing..
It seems an eternity between the inhale ~ and the exhale.. a lifetime between each breath.