I woke up thinking of you.
But instead of our morning rituals of cuddle crusades, I just felt our love--
hovering over me like a weighted blanket tempting me to leave.
And I felt our presence. Mixing together like the excommunicated flames of two solar giants. We were already unpredictably merged not knowing what our union would express.
But now it feels like the color invasion on a paper trench fortifying a graphite horizon.
It feels like a surprise hug that sends us sliding down a grassy reservoid incline facing where we've been.
It feels like God saying, "Let there be light." But instead of light, He says the word love. And within that love is the plasma consumption of days. For love is never dimmed by second switches. It just grows brighter. Even on low vibe days, It coils to bound further.
And God also said, "Be fruitful and multiply." But he didn't say this to our faces. He ducked down and said it to our hearts. He pointed to his heart and touched ours and repeated his command.
Our love became so hungry it consumed doubt disbelief and deception. It consumed false narratives frayed naysayers and fraudulent kindness.
In the void of this drought of hatred, love grew and became a force calling unto it all manners of beings, energies, seasons, tides, times, fields, flowers, hills and valleys, and all creatures and elementals that would support and sustain life. All this so our unseen passion could be balanced. Our unseen soul system even with the sentient life teeming with hints of its source.
Part of me wants to put a damn on this love river. To harness its energy or restrain it, but I believe this morning's flood was intended to destroy my restraint. For the brighter our sun is, the more life it imbues. The more our force can pull in orphaned asteroids and worlds considered dead or discarded and rope them into our orbit. That they become places of exploration. Points where their raw energies fuel and create maps of desire for the more adventurous dwellers of our planets.
I look at us and see how much we have changed and question whether this world is asleep. can they not see that we are wholly changing before their eyes? Or maybe I should say we aren't changing, but becoming more genuine and unafraid.
I wrote in my journal this morning that this feeling was akin to a sensory flood I experienced here and there as I've roamed this earth. Living in a small city yard compared to visiting a dense forest with so much moss it supported its own ecosystem of flora and fauna. Having a pesticide ridden mango compared to a culinary school biodynamic mango cake with had visual and flavorful layers expanding the moment until time was flattened into a fork prong.
My thin stabs of attention grow dull and I favor spoons of moments I can carefully dip into and sup slowly via soup reflections and jam journals.