zalatwic
“Science is another language we use to talk about the same miracles that faith talks about.”
Eva the Essentialist
I write to you in the hours the moon spills its light across the water. Alabaster ripples from the galaxies that reach our human disenchantment. I’ve nothing I suffer immediately, though; I sign off without a name in my messages to you. If I remain unlabelled, so will my actions. The boats that move across the water carry one thing with them; a promise to be someplace at some time. That is what I say of my body; it will arrive when it does and what comes before is the rehearsal.
The gynecologist told me I have fewer follicle fortresses, the lowest for my age group. By the time I feel prepared for pregnancy, the chance is high that there will not be any eggs to fertilize. I don’t believe in freezing time. We may have built the context, though there are miracles at the periphery that force the jaws. The blue whale catches krill between its teeth. The fish swim in willingly.
Many artists are terrible people. My teacher tells me to separate the meaning from the message, the subject from the object. There is no past or future; there is only NOW. What would relationships feel like if inclusivity was programmed into the cerebellum? Feeding us little stories of Ardhanarisvara.
Who is that, you ask?
It’s the synthesis of masculine and feminine, creation in its most magnificent form. It’s the merger of Shiva and Shakti, though that is a tale for another message. I am awake and wanting. When did desire stop being enough? I split myself in half to reach wider to either side, extending beyond the boundaries of physical form. There is a formula, and I stripped it of its armor. The fish swim in willingly if you’ve learned to open your mouth wide and take in the messages without a net of projections.
If I will not reproduce, what is there to do? The writer aims to stop protecting themselves from the wound. The deeper the laceration, the more resplendent the story. I push further into that abyss inside myself, a concave stomach bloated only by food and fear. I’ve never set my heel so far into a groove that I lose my shoe in removing my foot. Balance is a bloodless act. Drama is a theatrical style that begs emotion, excitement, and enchantment. I am the queen of one recital, though my plurality depends on what I write. I hope you will answer me and respond to my one question.
If there must be a system, what would you design?
Photo source.
