Tuesday, February 25, 2014

Wabi Sabi, broken is beautiful

Naked and assured the alluring diminutive creature was entering the middle of her life and she knew her life, in the land along the ocean shore as well as she knew the beating of her own heart, for she herself had very practically and neatly crafted it years before when she was a young child.  

But that all changed when the Stag, she had only ever imagined, appeared before her. He was standing motionless and alone just a few feet ahead of her, intently watching her every move from behind the tall grass along the edge of the shoreline.

Drawing by Julie Levitina, Philadelphia, PA
He was not a young Stag nor was he old but he was magnificent and mysterious and she could not help but be pulled into him.  His stature was rugged and strong and billowing mist flared from the nostrils on his handsome angular face as she gazed at him.

He had the look of a warrior in expression belying gentle eye's of a slate dreamlike quality.  He had deep lined scares along his muscular and seasoned frame telling authentic tales of his life and land in the green hills of his home very far and different from her country of saltwater and sand.  

And she knew he was cunning to have survived so far a journey, encountering certain perils and sacrifice just to find her, his muse, across such a vast and hostile distance with nothing in it for himself, but all, just to find her.

He was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen.  It made her shake to think of it and she felt she needed to cry.  She knew she would weep horribly.

The Stag gazed upon the lovely petite figure before him, her golden skin whispered to him like a tuscan seduction.  Her shinny black hair was thick and danced about in the wind like a dragonfly.  She had delicate rose bud lips around a warm smile and had elegant thin arms with dainty warm hands that she would soon use on him. 

She was nothing he had seen or known before, but he had imagined her and recognized he needed her. And he could not help but be pulled into her and was mesmerized by her slow yet deliberate movement toward him, treading as lightly as possible on the sand so as not to leave footprints. 

When her bare body got close enough the Stag felt her touch into his flank and he lowered himself in order that the soul mate he'd longed for, now beside him, might press all of herself upon him.  And then she pressed upon him.  She pressed upon him for hours, and for days and days, and weeks, for months and months and years. 

Together in this vignette they found what they had to find.  But then rain came suddenly and she felt she had loved him for a thousand years and would yield everything to be his one and only, if ...or until she couldn't anymore.  And it would surely kill the soulful piece inside her to go so far away and leave the love of her life, and feel the sickness of longing for shoulders she can't hold, ribs she can't touch, lips who's smile she can't see, with his hips unable reach and press against hers, or warm breath she could no longer whisper with,or inhale. And she would no longer feel his beating heart against hers or hear the heat of his soothing voice in her ear, or taste his gentle sweat dripping upon her face.
And the Stag, he would go to his knee's to hold on and protect her even after she left, until he couldn't anymore.  She was his life's love, his musing obsession and his inspiration and he died to what they were, and what he was, in order to carry on and be made more beautiful.

In this sea of love and loving, sweet and luscious, intimacy was the greatest loss.  It was intoxicating.

Peace and roll strong.

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