Where have I been? Where, in this world, has my Spirit gone to survive in such a cold, dark place of existence? A cloak, I have worn, around my head and neck – shrouding my face from the world within. I have looked toward the freezing rains, eyes half closed, wandering in search of a path misplaced of memory. There is a place within this madness that reminds me of who I am. It is not what you see or read. It is not what I write or think.
Somewhere my power had been shielded from sight. I took a vow to remember, then to forget so that my remembering would be stronger than it was before.
A man once came to me. No one would know who he was. There would be no pictures or verses or stories to pull the pieces together for show. He was just a memory and yet profoundly more. Some would call him a dream. Possibly a lover activating shields of birth in my consciousness. I can remember only that he came and drew power from the cosmic grids that surrounded our unity. A lover, perhaps, of another existence. Another part of my Self that could be explained no less than a mirror so drawn to its own reflection of desire.
We met beneath the veil of time; beyond the illusion of separation where our lives had been torn from the luminous fibers of which we were connected.
“In the stars,” he breathed, “we will meet again where physical form is void of the threads that create our bond.”
It was only a moment. But in this moment the walls would bend with love and what was once four corners was now an intricate pattern of our arrival as one.
9/16/09 Tatiana
Somewhere my power had been shielded from sight. I took a vow to remember, then to forget so that my remembering would be stronger than it was before.
A man once came to me. No one would know who he was. There would be no pictures or verses or stories to pull the pieces together for show. He was just a memory and yet profoundly more. Some would call him a dream. Possibly a lover activating shields of birth in my consciousness. I can remember only that he came and drew power from the cosmic grids that surrounded our unity. A lover, perhaps, of another existence. Another part of my Self that could be explained no less than a mirror so drawn to its own reflection of desire.
We met beneath the veil of time; beyond the illusion of separation where our lives had been torn from the luminous fibers of which we were connected.
“In the stars,” he breathed, “we will meet again where physical form is void of the threads that create our bond.”
It was only a moment. But in this moment the walls would bend with love and what was once four corners was now an intricate pattern of our arrival as one.
9/16/09 Tatiana
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