The Garden Gate – second edition

Passing through the garden gate, I meander with my beloved, earthly scents permeating my senses and cleansing my mind of thought. Gently I slow my pace, coming fully into the present moment, the sun softening my gaze, my heartbeat in rhythm with the song of my feet playing the earthen path.

Thirsty, I was. I needed water, was my excuse. Five more minutes in the company of my beloved, that’s all I really wanted. And here he is, my lover, my beloved, the softness of his skin brushing my skin as we walk, my senses heightened in arousal at his accidental touch. Entering into the sunlight before me, my beloved passes, and I squint to see sparks of love kissing his aura in a million streams of light, shining forth from his being like honey dripping into the ethers for all of the garden goddesses to witness. A perfect God.

Masterful lover, oh giver of life, how can one contain this beautiful creature? This wild and perfect force of freedom, triumphant as the wind itself? Confidently he strides amongst his beloved Goddesses, slowly taking each of them in, adoration penetrating deeply into their quivering branches, openly making love with each of them, his honey dripping through the ethers and ascending the garden path in front of us.

God, I’m thirsty, I think, mouth to fountain, tongue searching to stifle the unquenchable fire in my heart.

Swirling inward now, my own juiciness enlivening me, waking me up like a sprinkling of water, that brilliant inner sun illuminating my thoughts, offering a glimpse at my own magnificence.

Closing my eyes, I remember being that flower. That absolute single point of focused love, the scent of my desire pulling at his nectar, insisting that he land hard and love well, my juiciness too enlivening to resist, my love too full to restrain. Water swirling around my mouth now, falling fruitlessly from my lips and into the dead pan below.

How ironic, I think, rising up from the fountain and turning into the shadows that lead back down the path, as the flower wilts in the brilliant sun, fire and thirst too much to endure for more than a season or two.

An abandoned lover resides here, in the shadows of my heart. What will a sullen and fruitless season bare? Could this dark space actually contain a magnificent gift? The lonely crevices of my heart cry out to be explored, each line a world of its own, each curve an enchanted valley of ancient secrets, each drop of blood a night sky, angels singing from star to star.

Softening my gaze, my heartbeat in rhythm with the song of my feet playing the earthen path, I meander as my beloved, and pass once again through the garden gate, back to the place from which I came, as the flower passes back to its earthen grave, biding time in the underworld in wait of a new spring.


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