Hurt Me Daddy, for I Have Blogged

He asked me this year again. If I would come down and be his queen. I think I will say no. Whenever I wander those caves, I am deluded that the darkness will be without end. Then I eat three seeds, give birth to myself, grow old and die. Seems like all within a week. What he doesn't know is that it's like that, too, up here. Even now that I am saying no. He lives in the caves of the West, by the sea. I wore seven veils the first time. It was the tradition of my tribe. I was always the foreigner in his house of worship. At the turn of time when it got warmer, they laid blankets of flowers at my feet on the walk back. They covered biers for their dead king at the same time, and I did not understand. All I was able to do was walk. Walk through the caves without illumination. We made love and it was a galaxy of void. I understood not. I understood not what he wanted from me in my youth, when we were so different. He will be dead soon. He still guffaws when he asks me....

I wandered into a grove of trees tonight. Just close enough to the road that I felt safe going alone; just far enough to step into the shadows. There was a pulse there. The strong, earthy hum of centuries, of a spirit far more vast than I. I understood then the rhythm of each day, how there are audible markers to greet us at the important steps, and the true bursting forth of the birdsong, if we lend an ear to it. As always, I was a foreigner in this cathedral. Darkness. Granular sound. When I put my hands to the ground, I feel the pulse of Science. But when I walked in front of a shadowy tree, I felt Presence. The Life that hums low, even when the blossoms are dead, the Life that spins and rejoices in the windy canyon of the Necropolis. So one is present in the other. So the Dead visit with a chuckling hello, amidst homey scents. Breeze and clouds wander in, to follow haunted, heated stillness. Is it a Grove of Error? Or Crossroads? Only glinting tricksters of the Otherworld know....