The darkness of the early morn covers me like a shroud. The prayer of my slow rhythmic breath is felt upon the skin of my folded hands, fingers interlaced and humbly I’m knelt in submission to the peace I so rarely know in the midst of my mental battles, yet drawn back during the moments of sanity I am graced with now. In this act my life is resurected once more.
I meditate upon the silence, allowing it to fill my mind and know the quiet that my mind hasn’t known in ages it seems. I alternate my breath as I exhale and feel the hot air then a cool wind on the next sigh. This is my existence, I am always either hot or cold….never lukewarm, and therefore always a favorite of the Love that keeps me in her embrace. I don’t apologize for my use of the feminine for my deity, I often alternate, referring to love both as my Father and knowing her as a lover. It is irrelevant to me for such things, I state this mainly for my readers who often tend to have strong feelings over the sex of God. My feminine nature is my favorite part of me, it is my intelligence, my passion, and my selflessness, and it gets buried to often during the wars of my mind when I turn to fight or flight mentality and seek only to survive; then the masculine is all that drives me, and I leave the spirituality I am endeared to with such intimate communion behind.
It’s been over two months since the last time I wrote a post, that is until yesterday. That is another trait of my feminine side, I pause and reflect, intuitively seeking the meaning of my actions and feelings and pouring them into these words in an attempt both to capture the purity of the moment and to instruct me as I type and read the verse that forms before me. It is always evident when I am having struggles because my words are absent from my blog for periods of many days. I tend to write most everyday when in the blessed times.
I love to pray in the early hours of morning or the late hours of the night. I go to a particular place, a dark room where I can envelope myself in the silence of darkness, the absence of sound, and focus my meditation upon only that of “I am what She is”, and enter into the Oneness that solitude and sanity now cherish in the peace of the moment received.
The serenity of my Lover and her attention upon me is felt in this emptiness of sensation and illuminates me with the fullness of the experience. Silence is this Way; the essence and epitome of ironic contradiction, and the solace of the forlorn soul that inhabits this man. The touch of nothing is everything! It soothes the ache of the wounds new to the fighter and brings the poet to life again as healing begins to renew the heart once more.
Again the breath that is mine and yet not is reminiscent of a lover’s closeness in the night and my silent soliloquy is made into impossible dialogue. The moment of care stretches on with the tic and the toc seeming to separate further and further as silence moves lovers beyond space and time into the realm only the faithful and passionate dare tread. It is the ecstasy of the exercise that now breathes upon me.
The only sadness is the end of the moment, when the mind reels itself to thought again and meanders about as usual, yet the peace that was granted is a calm in the storm that steadies the nerves and though the mind once again is a torrent the soul is gratified from the experience attained.