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Astral Conversation

August 13, 2004

The moon plays truant with my moods, touching me fleetingly and scurrying away to peep out from behind pearly clouds, or looking at me, eyes veiled, through the cover of slim silver oak leaves. Seated on a wooden bench of faded green, journal in hand, I close my eyes and turn my face up to the sky.

It isn’t long before I feel it……prickles down my spine, my arms heavy and leaden, fingers shaking involuntarily, legs trembling against the edge of the bench, skin on fire, lips quivering with impatience—and the thoughts, tidal waves in the stillness of my mind, brilliant flashes formed into words, words strung into lines, verses groaning and straining to break the confines of consciousness and flood my reality. My astral conversation has begun.

Somewhere of long ago, we were sundered, torn apart—
twin souls separated by space,
we longed and longed (and longed)
for multiple lenses, to see
the reason for the music.

One night, on a full moon,
under silver oak
and a mystic summer sky
led by this longing
we closed our eyes and spoke,
my twin soul and I……

Him: I asked Fair Echo, but she knew not,
in her own tangle of love, lost;
pines and bulbuls, the dew on the leaf,
sympathised, but could not palliate my grief.

 

Me: The pebbles on the shore, the abandoned shells,
mermaids and Sirens, the seas’ pacific swells
drank from my tears, enhanced my loneliness
ate of my sorrow, and of watercress.

 

Him: From then to now, seeking, I gave
of my trust and love; they dug my grave,
scented it with pungent worded barbs and arrows;
a four-leafed clover, my companion, knows

I sat on winter nights, shuddering and bare,
on the threshold—but you weren’t there;
I sang a broken song to the wailing oak,
burning in the blaze of the fire you chose to stoke

 

Me: Motionless, courting Morpheus, his wings
my chariot—Terpsichore dances, Euterpe sings
and I search Morpheus’ realm, to find
your shadow in Euterpe’s words, your scent in the winds.

Riding with the North wind, alighting on dawn dew,
beseeching Phoebus (Apollo) to tell me what he knew;
I spent aeons searching, longing for you—
treading the eternal cycle, old turning to new

 

Him: I came across a stream, a patch of virgin earth,
whose whisper stroked me—“It is I who gave thee birth;
return to me, sleep gentle—stop your fruitless quest.
Drink of my nectar and lie in my arms, thy immortal nest.”

I said to her—“The elements are my witness—I swore to find her;
she wanders in the shadows, seeking, clutching a reminder
of when we were a single soul—a maple leaf, dried and frail,
our unfinished fable inscribed upon it. I cannot fail

my love—I must find her; when Isis and Osiris fuse,
and Ishtar, smiling, finds it hard to refuse
to sprinkle rose petals at my love’s dainty feet,
the heavens will bend, the earth rise to meet.”

 

Eros: From behind pearly clouds, through slim silver oak leaves,
I watch a woman grieving, see her shoulders heave.
Descending on a moonbeam, I ruffle the pages she holds,
set her arms a-trembling, upset her skirt’s neat folds.

Into her thoughts I enter, and find his duplicated—
her loneliness splashing in lagoons never fated
to find their way to the sea;

her angst palpable, she closes her heavy lids.

Will I be able to direct her agony,
to channel her intense emotion
into a missive that roars across the ocean,
brings alive the maple leaf,
and draws them together under the moonlight,
where she sits.

I take a feather,
shape a pointed dart;
aiming for his heart, I shoot—
feather turned to horse,
he rides with the morning sun
forever and a day;
Sirens guide him on his way,
Apollo blesses his steed,
the North Wind spurs him on
till Diana checks his speed
a few feet from a wooden bench, and……

I felt the hint of a presence and slowly opened my eyes. Footfall on the grass, heavy breathing, someone behind me—tremulous, I willed myself to sit still. The journal slipped from my hand and fell by my feet. From the corner of my eye, I saw him pick it up. Calmly and deliberately, I lifted my eyes to meet his—would he recognise me after all this time? Would he acknowledge the tie that pulled us together inspite of ourselves?

His head was bent, perusing my journal—he pulled out the maple leaf and gazed at it awhile, before replacing it with an air of finality. Dropping down on his knees, he drew out of his pocket the ring he had carried with him since the day we parted and slipped it on to my unresisting finger. His eyes answered my unspoken query—Ishtar scattered scented blossoms as we sealed our promise with a kiss, the ether our messenger and silence the language of our hearts.

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