I
have had sex with you through others. True, we have never touched. But I have
the enchantments and the furies, the resoundings and the sublimes to show what
our encounters in the ethers produced. I have gone beyond the grossness of body
stimulations, beyond physical locality, beyond the ‘us’ business. I have it
where you’re me and I’m you and we don’t have gender. I go where we are the
makings that environments express as vitalizing, where the sky produces
un-expectancies as voluptuous turbulences of inclusion in otherwise pleasant
sky serenities. I have gone from ground zero of practical reality in common
sense days to where eons kiss from the total-ness of their timely composures. My
lungs are the sky filled with inhalation. My chest hugging the roundness of
this earth. I whisper into the ear of the oncoming night. I tell of our
boldness to leave the enactment, to dismiss all the behavioral parts, to put
all of our cells in the bleachers as watchers filled with delight in their
meltdown from self-sense and otherwise distinctions. But where we are so, there
is no baggage of self or selves, no personage of either of us, no story that
propelled us to hear of our honor, no karma heretofore to disrobe from. Experience,
for each of us, got to ride shotgun in the getting here, sits with now, facing
the past, with its motor running. I have had sex with you through others,
like
following a series of luminescent levitating bread crumbs on a journey towards
wholeness of being.
Wherever
and whenever you were orgasmic-ally combustible, beacons from you sent off
pulses in all directions throughout the energetic fabric of the universal field
of play. I, in receivership, gathered all of these, your timeless luminary
tones into my cathedral made of waterspouts from tears of yearning, until these
never-setting tones were as a flock, so rich as to defy space for its lack of
modesty, so pure of focus as to spurn time for its contrivance of regimens, so
sacred as to dismiss the illusions of polarities, paradoxes and,
positionalities, so consecrated with isness as to release locality, personage,
and consciousness from their restrictive binds. I have had sex with you through
others, was repeatedly written on my clothes, my sheets, my car, the surface of
my ethereal contact lenses through the eyesight of my life, the legible
patterns that rain would fall in front of my vision, in the flyby arrangement
of fireflies on dreamy summer nights in my mind, in the creases of folds, in
the pauses between breaths, until there were no more others. Until we all met,
way up the evolutionary ascendency. It was there that I stopped having sex with
you through others. It was a there that was not of a there, of any there, that
had ever been a there. It was a there that had no I, no stopped, no sex, no you
and no others. And once there, there, of course, had no I to question any of it
forever more . . .
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