Listen to this

We tasted the thistle stars and as they pricked our ruby tongues the color oozed out in indigo hues and tried to dance out of our mouths. It was as if the stars were rebirthed, and they had new life and it was with beginning and with beginning and with beginning. Essence was everywhere and it wasn’t just on the inside and it wasn’t just what was locked away or unseen or underneath or behind. It was not separate than, and we linked arms and we started to skip over the clouds.

There were no doors because everything wants to open, has an intrinsic need to open, and once we understood that walls ceased to exist. And it was Shiva singing his love songs which were teachings which were meditations to Parvati and she soaked them in and she allowed them to caress her skin and permeate the pearl that she wore on her finger, and licked, every so often, for good measure.

We paused to put our hands together in the darkness and pray for the sustenance that the beginning of a journey necessitated. And we continued with beginning and with beginning and with beginning and we bowed to each other and everything kept blossoming because the world was all there was, but there were others, too, and we knew that we couldn’t wake awake anymore because in each moment we were skyrocketing and the other thistle stars wanted to kiss us after the first two touched our tongues. And it’s pretty damn hard to say no to a thistle star.

We let our spirals take over, and they were steering us, and we looked like whirling dervishes with angel wings. Not two wings each, but four. And it was effortless because we were only gliding and flowing and floating and following and that’s the way that our breaths were stolen. The glimmer trickled through us and I say trickled because it was like a leaky faucet that let a little bit out every now and again, but always managed to catch you slightly off-guard and make you feel like your house was haunted. The glimmer trickled through us and we leapt and we kissed and we let go into the abyss so that we could remember what it felt like to be held by something bigger than us.

We tasted the thistle stars and we exchanged gifts with the ether. There’s an albino spider in my fabric blinds and I hope he’s sleeping and not nesting, but he’s been sleeping for a while and maybe it’s a she and maybe she’s traversing the galaxies because every so often she stirs and changes position. I wonder what world she’s in right now.

The flame of my cinnamon candle is dancing too high and threatening Quan Yin, but it’s leaving the most beautiful glow against her bronzed skin and I don’t want to disturb what is meant to be. I think that’s a myth, though. How can we disturb what is meant to be?

It doesn’t even make any sense and I get lost in it get lost in myself get lost in this world because I’m really not lost at all, I just want you to put your finger to my lips and say, “Hush, girl.”

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