“Love Ladder” mandala made April 1, 2022 at Two Bunch Palms, CA
IV. The Lovers
Youthful infatuation,
mature adoration,
odd couples, twin flames,
A well-timed one-night stand.
Awaken the bliss body
and come out to play.
Seeking another,
as a reflection point, an anchor,
or an inferno...
Let's remind each other what we’re here for...
connection, union, dissolution,
a sense of the Soul
in space, time, and relation
with another;
with all of Nature.
Eros, you sly fox.
What is it that you want?
An end to the restlessness.
Comparing, jealous, and empty inside.
Not enough, never enough.
Imagine complete absorption in the arms
and eyes of the beloved.
Consumed.
Sweet nothings until you are
sweet...nothing.
The end of longing comes
with the complete fulfillment
of one embrace.
Eternal.
Nowhere to go, no one to be,
no more healing to be done.
What is it that you want?
To be beyond fear.
A cessation of the anxiousness and the anger.
Always timid and acting with trepidation.
Fight, flight, freeze...
To be free of their grip.
Imagine a ferocity of being,
fangs and eyes wild.
You make yourself into a monster so
no demon can shake you.
Lose yourself in wild abandon,
both fearless and fearsome,
but with a heart of compassion.
Clean anger. Searing.
Cuts to the chase.
Where does ferocity meet bliss?
Fucking reality.
Two lovers meet after lifetimes.
The lovemaking has intensity,
as if they might devour each other.
And yet they stop
Just short of eating each other up.
And in that pause, that restraint,
there is a love beyond desire.
Bliss comes in heaving breaths,
All hesitation is forgotten.
Action and non-action are irrelevant.
The intimacy is with Life itself.
~~~
Sweltering night, late summer,
Brooklyn is hot and dying.
Two lovers meet
on the third floor of a classic Brownstone.
He stands in the kitchen doorway,
while she sits on the end of the bed
hungry, happy, and listening.
She asks questions,
though she already knows the answers.
Framed by the dark wood,
like a vintage photo,
he talks about his art
with passionate intensity.
Searching for just the right words…
gesturing with the cilantro.
A single light bulb, sulphur yellow,
They are approaching something timeless.
“What we have opened is essential…”
he confides like a secret
as she reclines further.
They are bound
by a shared love of the epic
and something more urgent:
a conspiracy against the unreal.
The heat and music soften the edges.
Stan Getz, Billie Holiday, The Duke…
The music is out of character for him,
but somehow appropriate to this night,
and this rendezvous.
She has always loved the sound of jazz
floating through open windows
on New York summer nights.
Now she’s inside it,
and it could be 1941.
The two of them taking the city by storm,
like O’Keefe and Stieglitz.
Forces of nature
in a place that’s forgotten how to breathe,
how to root.
Their hearts keep time as a saxophone
riffs with the sirens of the city.
Nowhere else to go now.
She describes a feeling like sadness.
"That’s beautiful," he says
referring to her eloquence,
“But let’s actually feel it…together.
Feel the ground…
Yes, that’s it.”
Her grief darts in and out of awareness;
slippery and used to hiding.
They catch it gently and hold it.
He whispers,
“Feel our hearts meeting from this place.”
Inside her, the sadness blossoms;
opening into something genuine
and universal.
He touches her heart with his fingers.
“This is the place where human beings
can truly trust one another,” he says.
She sighs because it’s true,
and because she never knows
what’s going to come out of his mouth.
Later, they make love
with their bodies full of sensation.
The ritual of it,
the middle of the dark night,
outside of time.
Lovers have been doing this forever—
Finding and losing each other
in stories and grasping,
searching for meaning, completion
or release from the mundane,
and finding it
in the fleeting moments
of remembering and forgetting.
Afterwards,
the sheets soft and rumpled,
their bodies fit like a puzzle.
His breath in her ear signals speech,
“Sometimes, I feel like saying,
‘I’m sorry’ afterwards.”
The words are from another place.
She takes them in and then pulls
a response from that same place:
“I always feel like I’ve been blessed.
Still, I accept your apology
for nothing you’ve done
on behalf of all the lovers.
All those who ever loved like this
and eventually hurt each other.”
She rests her hand on his heart.
He is still in the sorry.
Maybe because it can be this good
and yet it can’t save them,
or anyone, from this samsara.
Not in 1941. Not ever.
~~~
Somewhere in the subtle realms,
two lovers rest.
Pillow talk in the clouds.
Their union is essential to Life itself.
She sits up,
energy streaming over translucent breasts,
her hair like a waterfall.
She gazes at Planet Earth
beyond His shoulder.
He is alert, absorbed in thought.
She knows, yet still She asks,
because the questions remind Him to care:
“What happens next?”
He responds: “You mean right now?”
It always takes them a moment to sync:
dynamic movement with pristine presence.
Their words architect reality,
so they must be cautious, precise,
in this cosmic dance.
She comes at it from a different angle,
a mother's tone:
“Is everyone alright?”
He shakes his head and frowns,
“Everyone here?”
He gestures to the two of them.
“Or everyone out there?”
His massive arm sweeps through Space.
She feels the weight of His burden,
the enormity of His mind,
and what is required of Him
just to keep the world spinning.
Watchfulness. Concern. Capacity.
Earth is having a hard time
with this transition.
She feels the lost souls...so many of them.
The dissolution is always hard to bear.
"I hate this part," She sighs.
He looks at Her with love,
calling forth Her wisdom.
Her body is made of cycles,
She knows them like the back of her hand.
She remembers now and they smile at each other:
New beginnings.
“Are they becoming a butterfly?”
He nods thoughtfully: “Boy, I hope so.”
She has pulled them back
from the brink of destruction
by calling forth His compassion.
She touches His cheek.
“You look worried," She says.
“Oh, no. I’m just thinking.
Sometimes I look worried when I think.”
He smiles to reassure Her
and there are rainbows
at the corners of His mouth.
She sees the whole Universe in Him...
What a guy.
"You must have had some mother,”
She says teasingly.
“Oh yes, She was really something,”
He smiles a knowing smile because
He sees the whole Universe in Her, too:
The Great Mother.
They unite again in the Divine Love
That can only be shared by two
Who are in Reality,
One.
~~~
If you'd like to start from the beginning of the poem, here is Part One.
