SPONSORIf you like this content, be sure you click here and support iState's ability to deliver to you news for the iStater, the state of one.
View of a Lady
1. she walks in the crystal night .
taking myself outside of the simple reality of life I am always finding her there…a wraith weaving such luster in the dull night sky…why would I torment myself with the foul, dead common beasts that make such claims as only she can?…I have a heart…it is a small stone grown over with a dewy moss waiting for her touch to bring that stone to its full heat…the moss becoming then filaments of light connecting me to the edges of all universal possibilities . my hands are a bit weathered …yet I dream of merely holding her hand if not but for a brief moment…what is in a hand such as hers?…mere bone, mere blood, mere heat?…the hand is that vulnerable letting go of the will…to surrender your hand to another is to surrender to that other the very fibers that make your life bloom…a hand is the symbol of what roots us to life and to surrender it is to surrender to the other that tenable hold on such things , knowing that in that surrender you will only get a stronger hold on such things as life is composed of….to begin a breath in silence and end it in a full symphony
2. the air was of no consequence ..
I made walls and doors and towers evaporate in the face of such beauty I could believe I was able to glide through the sturdiest stone barrier if I could hope to catch a glimpse of that beauty as she raised herself from sleep or lowered herself from waking and let her body disintegrate in the mist-like folds of silk that surrounded her as she slept….what is love but the perpetual new awakening of the senses?….to be with her is to find myself reinventing time and space each second I can hold myself up to her presence…she is shifter of shapes and times…she is the quiet pall that settles after a heavy snowfall…she is the trickle of light through a window of rose-colored glass she is the depth of the ocean secretly holding her luminous shapes below…she is the soft brush of the surf against a smooth, white beach…she is where we began to believe in grace and where we began to sing of life beyond ourselves…a miracle of cells which made a subtle station of such simple hope amidst the dragons and drek of a natural world……so therefore I awaken newly…over and over again when she comes to me…in my ear I hear not her words…though dutifully I comply…I hear instead that drone which is where the universe began and where it will end…that drone where angels were invented and where crude beasts died…that drone where you lift your head and you are newly become some richly carved cathedral filled with such a choir of notes that spirit itself becomes indistinguishable from where you begin and end in a physical world…but what do I say when she calls…I glide through that ether…. I am not afraid of the sun anymore for I have bathed in the purest of lights and not been scorched