Sunday, December 9, 2012

...And The Thunder Sounded, And The Lightning Flashed.

This is going to be a lot more poetic and a lot less linear than usual (to say nothing of NR 17 graphic). Make of it what you will.

Tonight, in bed with the Husband. Something more than just sex, my Beloved, and I hope you won't mind me letting the whole world into our Sacred Chamber, the Bridal Bed. The incense and "Wake Wood" and the strain and the sweat and the joy. The thunder sounded with us, the lightning flashed when I opened my eyes.

I christened us both, after. And brought you water. And came out here, in the sudden cool and the damp, knowing. Knowing this was one of the instructions I'd left myself as to how to come back. It was just really good sex, some would say. I'm uncomfortable with reading this, others are thinking. That doesn't matter. What matters is that I've started to dig myself out of the grave, started to climb the cold stone stairs out of Ereshkigal's abattoir. And if I leave glowing footsteps painted in love, so much the better.

A friend of mine left a comment on that last entry, about how things now made sense that hadn't before. And I heard April, at least eight years ago, telling me things I didn't want to hear about Things I'm Supposed To Be Doing. The Gods help me and you, my friends and readers, because now I see. I've long joked about not being a good example, but a cautionary tale, but I think the time for that bit of levity has passed.

I have heard The Voice. I have spoken with The Dead. I have risen from my own ashes, blessed in love. It isn't egotism when I say that I know, now, that there are people waiting to hear what I have to say, that what I have to say is meaningful in ways I can't even begin to imagine. I have no idea what words of mine reach someone, what instructions were left with me for someone else to hear.

These are only the first steps; I don't kid myself by thinking that now everything will be ecstasy and moonlight. But I am reborn, resurrected, returned. And I will whisper to you in the dark until you're off your own hook and climb the last of those stairs to meet me in the light again, the two of us blinking in the light of the Divine.

1 comment:

  1. Wonderfully put. Whenever I say sex is a sacrament, it can sound so trite.

    What I really mean is "yeah ... what the Ocelot just said"!