Touching The Esoteric Hem
He held my heart for ransom. I had given it to him long ago, now he wanted me to pay the price of the gift, that I had not put a value on. It was ludicrous to think I owed him something. It was a gift to him. My love. A gift bearer does not normally expect reciprocation. If there was something wrong with me, it would be that I had not valued my love enough when I gave it forth. Perhaps that makes me a whore.
But I think it is not my thoughts that could make me a whore; I think it is the thoughts of the male polarity makes women into whores. Not that I am so wise and know everything about men and women, but I do know we create one another falsely, just as we create a punishing God.
Were we not all children? As children everything is given to us free. We have air, food, shelter, and sometimes we have love.
At the least, when we encounter a feeling of being loved, we may get distorted versions of love. In time increments called moments. And we savor our memories, but they do not satisfy the lust for more love, more pleasant feelings. If real love is sacred and pure of deceit, no lust will enter in for more. One moment of pure love suffices for a lifetime, in thinking, I have been loved once, therefore I am very lucky.
To want for more, more, more, is to proclaim more is not here. To want, is to deny the cup is full and it is enough. Love, if pure, creates the more, of itself, by itself, we do it not, and not by desiring that it create itself to be felt once more.
As I went along I saw many truths, and each bottomed me out further and further so that I saw all dreams dissolve in the now moment of my time.
When a gift is given to you, a gift of love, it has no conditions in the giving, not even in the growth of love into fullness. It just is. It can be accepted as it is, but you cannot gild the lily to enhance it's intrinsic beauty. Gilding the lily worships it's form. Yet now, the lily breaths not and is lifeless with no scent, frozen in time, it becomes an object inanimate and just a whisper of it's true self.
So I ask was I wrong to love him? And still yet I believe it was right to love him, while right again to walk away, but first I had to retrieve the heart I had given previously when I writhed in human immaturity wrestling with my puppy love heart.
I did not believe love had a price tag. Love was everything. Love was sacred. Love was God, because God was still sacred, even if everywhere I went the name God had lost it's sacredness. I would reluctantly become God's throwback as I tried to widen my awareness of what God was, and what I was.
When I drew close to him, he came into my arms when I called for that, to seal our moment in time. I often thought if he came to me so readily as if he had no choice but to be swallowed in my arms, could I be Eve offering to Adam the apple of knowledge of good and evil? I knew in that moment he could choose not to come forth in the embrace, so I awaited to see what he would choose. I had spent all my words.
He came and we whirled around together two quarks inside an atom. I searched for his eyes but he held his head down and I saw he was in pain.
Then I saw he needed healing. The joy I had at first felt dampened from pure joy to concern for him. Then we parted the astral ways and the imposition of time channels within dreams of futility and hope.
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