Of comet & firefly tales

Rainsong memories taint the broken heart, piercing through the veil of what has never been seen, but only felt between us. The intentions collide just always a beat out of sync, one of us arriving just after the other has given up, twisting around the maypole fantasy of a time gone by. We both hold memories of people and places we can’t explain: Norse faces, stag princes, rose angels, burning trees, lush landscapes and crashing waves of pleasure. Yet, whenever we seek, we only push the other further behind.

“I learn the lessons of this life,” I say to myself as I give up hope, about as predictably resolute as a waterwheel’s drowning redemption. We’re always on opposite sides, chasing each other’s tails. Are you running away this time, or is it my turn? Fickle gratitude to the universe for teaching us about patience as we sink further into the cycle until we’re just standing still, at the center, backs to each other refusing to move forward and claim our desire.

We’re not allowed desire are we, my sweet? No, we are in service to the divine, pleasure comes when the cosmos command it, not to be conserved, but to be spent of the fuel it delivers. You are lakeside evenings, crickets and campfire silence. I am the comet you watch streak across the sky, uncatchable, untouchably far. You twinkle and glow with the fireflies at sunset while I shower sparks of blessing to cursed monsters below. We both transform and ignite the soul, but each in our own quiet way.

Fireballs and fireflies, I see you beside me in the rain, a creaky deck beneath our bare feet. Splatters across the roof, my hair misty with autumn chill, your arms vibrant with spring’s promise. The silence speaks volumes. Your arms wrapped around mine as we watch lighting in the peaks beyond us. A storm is coming, prophesy proving fact. With each breath we take together, the sphere of our safety grows stronger. We know we came to face this together, but did we expect to have such little time together before we did?

This is where we meet, my solstice brother, my equinox kin. Between the moon and the earth we glow, connected by the infinite transformation of ice, snow, lake and river. Showers of rain pooling at our feet, the placid surface of the glass-laid lake perky with stacatto echoes of our past. Each drop telling a different tale, once separate and now with its kin. As are we. Once separate but always drawn right back in to lose ourselves in each other.

The forest calls us back home. The sputtering waterfall, the clear water’s edge. No matter how much force and power it churns, it is eternal. The lessons we’ve learned are valuable, but only two sin-eaters can know each other from afar. Only one who purges the pain of others can recognize the haunted access of the other’s presence. The lush fullness of the experience, the vulnerability offered to us on a platter could make us gorge ourselves on desire alone. We both tried that, both suffering more lessons than blessings. We chase around an orbit that we know is collapsing, hoping the other will save us from the scarcity that makes us hungry for the other.

But devour each other we never will. Neither of us can afford such weakness, such abject surrender to a lesser cause. For when both of us fly with angels, how can either of us ever hope to land long enough to pass through the portal to find out?