Our Love at S'd'O'

If I ask myself, Who am I?
What comes to mind is not simply an individual devoid of other…
Not only a man of thirty-eight with graying beard and hair…
More than a husband and artist of considerable contribution…
But, rather, a co-creator, a co-conspirator in a budding life…
A lover and partner whose goals include a Third of encompassing fashion…
And a coniunctio embodied in continual transformation that astounds!
Alchemists may have conjured the perfect heirosgamos in experiments
That did or did not embrace an actual other
And who is to say, based on jumbled texts and archaic symbology
Bewildering jargon uttered to obscure psychic process
What they did achieve or what their process involved?
I only offer that here, in this age, we have formed a heirosgamos of untold
Proportions and uniformity, which in its unfoldment fosters perfect awe!

Ah Awe. To be reserved for God! I was once told by a spiritual mentor
Whose teachings led me to independence of thought in the spiritual realm
Just as my independence of thought – independence one of the Other –
Nay, of all others, since the times of my childhood and undoubtedly even before
Led me equally to the bliss of discovering the voice of my Soul
And still, such a lonely road, was this lone journey of one from the one to the One…
Sometimes the shadow searching in the dark was all that I could see
But in the ultimate surrender of that, I was led to you…
My husband, my lover, my friend, my muse, my co-creator, my co-conspirator in the creation of a life
That is… what it is I cannot say for to say is to limit It, which I dare not do
But what I can say is that, to have been graced
With this opportunity to journey in partnership
Has brought to me the most sublime and real feeling of gratitude that I have ever experienced
It is, indeed, the experience of genuine Awe!
And now, when my awareness brings me to that place of knowing that I Am
The I Am that I Am consists of so much more depth
So much more complexity than ever before
Because it consists of you and it is no longer just me or Me
Nay, it is our Third
Embracing and unfolding you and me and us in a magnificence of alchemical energy
That must be the coniunctio of which was spoken
And if, perchance, it isn’t, then we will make it so
Because we say so, and live So!

Mmm…mmm…mmm…
Mum’s the word that isn’t spoken, although it may trumpet internally infernally loud!
What we, and in this use of ‘we’ and forever more I mean you and I and the Third,
Feel pales in comparison to what we see pales in comparison to what we think
Pales in comparison to what we imagine pales in comparison to what we know pales in comparison to what we sense pales in comparison to what we experience pales in comparison to what we feel….
And right now, what I feel is what we feel, and it is sublime—there is nothing else than sublimity
Who knew?
When embarking on a new path one does not question the where and the how or the what, and definitely not the why…
Yet, we both felt something that denied conventions
That altered destinations
That complicated salutations
That brought us to exultations
Now I ask, is this righteous?
Righteous in a sense of spiritual embodiment, in form and physicality
In mind and intent
In spirit and soul
Have we lost a part of a whole only to make more of a whole of it all?
Yes!
In bridges falling, skies coloring stars white and suns painting pinks about
We lose no sight over the inner moving through seven times an infinitude of stages
A tree speaks, it sings, the moss silences the gray fog stills
A drop drips to dewy moisture
In the folds of an entire universe within
Without, heralds announce triumph of a Third
In that I succor respites long past for they know nothing of now
Wings fluttering in yellow and white
Fluffy lace and splashy lion
Seeds in a poppy field
Remembering its sempervirens passed…
Odes I have written, and this is not one, unless we consider what has past
In that case, I ode it all, as I owe it all to an eye like Horus
A feather that weighs right
And just peace of solitude amidst love and happiness that knows no bounds
Fly
Fly like the six-foot Raven’s wings amidst tallest trees in the world….
That we ride among
And thrive within

The Beauty with which you speak, my Love, overwhelms me
Silences me with tears, not of joy or of sorrow
Of what I cannot even speak
You’d think that, next to the giants that I have lived and that I now live
That I ‘d be used to you… or accepting of what comes through you
But your expression never ceases to amaze me and the pain that it causes me is so sweet
Yes, who would have expected? Who would have known? Who could have told?
Except as is told in the ancient texts
There in the akashic records does it tell of our soul journey leading us to this moment in time
That the veil was lifted in a split in the cosmic fabric to reveal to each of us our destiny
Is perhaps and unfortunately for some not as unique as the manner in which we acted
Fully and completely and immediately upon it
And so, in so short a period of linear time
Here we are – writing in the library – the Library – of Sequoia de O’
of our Love, our Third, our alchemy
The giant sempervirens, the coastal bluffs, the caterpillars, water crystals and butterflies,
Orion, Ursula Major and Minor
As you write of Artemis and I of triggering events
And we laugh at their connections in the morning
As you cup my breasts and belly and I your thighs and…
And rest my head in the arc of your chest while I listen to you breathe your love into me

Can I shelter the moss that grows fragiley on paths’ edges
To give it better purchase so that it might green something gray or brown or black?
Can I take green and make it blue so that the sky has a common thread of decency
After it enters my soul, to commingle with what has been named the green chlorophyllic flow
From leaf all the way to root tendril?
Can I tend the diverse sages growing and surrounding we
So that they too echo wisdom in tune with heartthrobs we push unknowing?
Can I take red and make its oxygenated splash my heart for the world to purely ingest?
Can I open to skies splitting my consciousness and blowing through my shadows, in order that the light and the dark integrate to see common ground?
Can I take blue and make it see itself in a stroke of chance purgatory?
Can I welter ordered rays that strike dewdrops with arrays of brilliance and topple crystal mounds over molehills in Ides long forgotten?
Can I take yellow gold into more than Yukonic recall, more than iconic repast, more than any box it has escaped into freedom similar to that of amor’s escapades on mountains lost?
Can I find humility and nurturance needed for the royalty enveloping me, for the death by drowning already incurred, as we swim out of that death into regality?
Can I take purple and make it an opportunity worthy of its storied past, an opportunity that shall not lose one askance at the royal decorum, and instead shall be lost in rapport?
Can I follow the passion and derangement in striking flames of lost imaginings and see it has altered its path to seek out mine own?
Can I take orange and place it nimbly next to the turquoise caftan worn by my love?
And, if I seek white and black only to discover their grayness, finding plenty without either,
Shall I then transfigure my soul to be only that white and black seen before a gray veil illuminated more?
And, can I then take that white, black, and gray and discover portals unfound, undiscovered within the moss of hirsute-not-less astute in the firmament soaked in beams coating palaces of mottled flawless amethyst?
Here, as jury and judge, I offer only that of the warranted reflections of the master whom I love more than my own life, my wife:

Yes and so be it!
For, I used to see it as all black or white all dark or light, all wrong or all right
Now I see it as shades of grey, distinctions, slowly, surely fading away…

Here, in Sequoia de O’ distinctions are overcome as a horrible lack of muddiness might threaten it all, undergirding something unintended so that it might fester, instead clarity shows through like the light of warm colors leading to blues and eventually to purple, and in this happenstance following of the chakric outlines, we find grace has found us and we simply laugh…