Eddies of Love

For my beloved:

I do not question. Instead, I thank you for such sublime, abandoned moments outside of ordinary space/time where we become consummately entwined. 

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The Calling

Spirit:

Come, come and meet me there, there where is neither. Where reality and unreality merge, where the lines are blurred and crossed, fixed in a point of being unfixed. A gatweway and hole in space/time.

Come, come meet me there, be there until fear prickles your skin, sweat trickles down your back, unable to turn back, let fear give way to Beauty.

Come, I will meet you there.

The Weaver Of Snow

The Weaver Of Snow by Fiona Macleod

In Polar noons when moonshine glimmers,

And the frost-fans whirl,

And whiter than moonlight the ice-flowers grow,

And the lunar rainbow quivers and shimmers,

And the Silent Laughers dance to and fro,

A stooping girl

As pale as pearl

Gathers the frost-flowers where they blow:

And the fleet-foot fairies smile, for they know

The Weaver of Snow.

And she climbs at last to a berg set free,

That drifteth slow:

And she sails to the edge of the world we see:

And waits till the wings of the north wind lean

Like an eagle’s wings o’er a lochan of green,

And the pale stars glow

On berg and floe…

Then down on our world with a wild laugh of glee

She empties her lap full of shimmer and sheen.

And that is the way in a dream I have seen

The Weaver of Snow.

In A Younger World.

 Yuletide In A Younger World By Thomas Hardy

We believed in highdays then,
And could glimpse at night
On Christmas Eve
Imminent oncomings of radiant revel—
Doings of delight:—
Now we have no such sight.

We had eyes for phantoms then,
And at bridge or stile
On Christmas Eve
Clear beheld those countless ones who had crossed it
Cross again in file:—
Such has ceased longwhile!

We liked divination then,
And, as they homeward wound
On Christmas Eve,
We could read men’s dreams within them spinning
Even as wheels spin round:—
Now we are blinker-bound.

We heard still small voices then,
And, in the dim serene
Of Christmas Eve,
Caught the far-time tones of fire-filled prophets
Long on earth unseen. . . .
—Can such ever have been?