Beyond Cosmic Slumber She Unfurls
She is worthy. Worthy of all admiration. Worthy of all praise. Worthy of all love. She embodies it. She’s aware of her worth. She floats across distant chasms on gilded wings. Trumpets sound her arrival. You may not be able to hear them at first, for you have not met her presence. You will and you will know then, they are for HER. Rivers change their course to be closer to her shores, mountains protect her with clear channels of tread, animals wild or not wish to be preserved in her arms. She sees opportunity where others turn in trepidation. This is a woman of great importance who needs my encouragement, adoration, strength, faith and affection. She is to be cared for with diligent hands, nimble mind, and fastidious attention to her delicate soul. Whether she is tender, strong, or graceful above all she is wild and I wish to gallop as fast as I can to keep up and challenge her to lay witness to her beautiful intellect. She is wild and I howl each night praying to hear her feral call of grace.
At night its almost imperceptible, a silent flutter. It scared me in the beginning. Scared the hell out of me. I would feel subtle gesture. I sensed a craft beyond my intellect. It was a movement happening in our room, at night, in the dark. I was sure that I didn’t want anything to do with it other than to keep my mind from discovering its course. I paid little attention to it at first. A shake here, a twitch there, movement from her side of the bed. I tried to ignore it but my mind couldn’t comprehend letting it go. I needed closure. I would stir her lightly to wake and ask her what was causing these gyrations. She would reply “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I thought to myself how could she not be awoken from it or aware what was causing the disruption. I would lay back down befuddled and stricken with fear.
As we grew closer and our relationship strengthened I would grasp her hand at night to gesture love, security, and intimacy. I held her tight and steadfast praying she didn’t waft out the open window along with the sweet summer fragrance dancing back and forth in an entrancing unveil. I came to know where these movements came from. As we commenced to hold hands and gingerly fall asleep, she beat me most nights. I heard the nuances from her breathe change from light and vague to deep and tranquil. It would begin. I felt it through my hand in hers. Subtle shivers felt in fingers and palms. I was careful not to grasp tighter. A flutter here and a twitch there. It was as if each one of her muscles had it’s own individual pulse pausing and reverberating one after another. I would feel a quick squeeze of my palm, a pulse in the top of her finger, a blink in her wrist. I would wake her gently and “ask what was the matter?”
She replied “nothing, what do you mean?”
I said “I feel these twitches in your hand and wondered what in the hell is it?”
“Nuttuhhh,” she replied.
“I swear you’re squeezing my hand and twitching in your sleep.”
“No I’m not, stop it and go to sleep, quit waking me up.”
I would lay back down, close my eyes, and before you know it she’s back in deep sleep and the reverbs begin again. This time I move in closer and touch our legs together and our feet overlap. It’s happening all over. I feel a minute pulse in her thigh, a pop of her ankle, a tiny squeeze in my hand, a tense in her forearm, a breathe in her veins. There was a chorus of synapses happening all over her body. I wondered what scientists would take from this after careful study. Would this be cause for alarm or a medical jubilation? A new anomaly brought to light from inside our bedroom to worlds end. I began to formulate my own hypothesis: these gyrations were having to do with her kindred spirit. She awoke in strengthened moods ready to take on whatever the world had to throw her direction. She willingly wanted to help whoever she could in any problem they encountered with no wish for reparations. These subtle movements were charging her body each night, strengthening, filling with light, conquering any self doubt. It was magic. Pure and simple. I attribute it to these magical synapses that in my view were sparking molecular difference to reboot her body and recharge it each night with new, glorious, and profound knowledge to lead her in vanquishing any obstruction standing in her way. Simply scientific, a regeneration of will and focus afforded each night to summon resilience for the next days monumental undertaking.
It was on a relatively warm winter day where the temperature hit seventy-two degrees, a slight breeze, and blue skies where I saw just how ravishing she was. She happened to be effervescent, floating above all the rest. Her chestnut colored hair danced daintily with the current and the flora was covetous of their waltz. Her nerve impulses must have been firing on all cylinders throughout the night to have created such appropriate elegance. My body I say is quite the machine with its impermeable shell towards allergies, snakes, poison oak, flu, and major hangovers but this woman’s delicate dance maneuvered around the flotsam like a moon through swollen skies. Her eyes shown, her stride buoyant, her confidence almost a clip ahead, I was enamored. She was radiant and I saw her strength in full sunshine with no blemish. I photographed her in the equally pure light with full abandon hoping to catch her in full peacock with out a single trace of her devising. It was natural. She hadn’t planned on throwing the earth of its axis, it just came to fruition in the still, black night when impulses were transmitted and received, encompassing the axon terminus of her neurons. There is an extremely small gap through which the synapses travel and in this minuscule space is where her glands, dendrite, and muscles receive this harmonious bounty of wisdom, selflessness, balance, finesse, and polish. These gifts are presented to her each night and are only set aside to people worthy of passing their philanthropy with out a single whiff of objection. Her seat awaits her in the next life on top of splendid mountains majesty, dazzling views of shimmering seas, flowers adorn her amber waves, and her animals wish to reach her raised on a dais and covered with canopies of silk and sunbeams. She is worthy of all.