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No altar here, no flame, only a black mirror and I let down my hair (Rapunzel, Rapunzel, but don't rescue me, I don't want to be saved). I call Her in silence, I call into the dark. The cold creeps in and chills me white, hands moving like birds to shape a language not spoken.

I call Her in, I open myself, I ask to be invaded ... but I cannot meet Her eyes, I dare not look, for in that moment when our gazes meet I am pierced (transverberation of my heart), turned inside out, no secrets anymore, no comfortable justifications and rationalisations. Not a butterfly pinned, a frog dissected, all my organs carefully lifted out and placed around my body in a blood circle, wracked by pain (and there must be pain), dismembered. Never this exposed, only for Her, only for Her.

Oh, and She looks at me, She looks at me, She knows what I'm thinking and how I doubt. She has no pity, She accepts no excuses but there is a dreadful understanding in Her.

And there are tears falling, always, because to be in Her presence, to be in Her, in me, is terrible and wonderful. She takes me like a lover.

And the ecstasy is cold.

(And as I sit here typing and reading ... the knock at my door of two sweet old ladies, bringing "God" to the heathen. I smile, and listen, nod my agreement that the world needs a little more tolerance. And then - irony (it's good for your blood, dear) - one hands me the cheap pamphlet and tells me to rejoice, for my suffering is soon to end.

I thank them sincerely, and feel myself grow tall, grow still and cold and She looks out from behind my eyes.

And I do not tell them that their paradise is my curse. I do not tell them how I dance past the point of exhaustion, screaming and wailing until my throat breaks. I do not tell them about the long processional, chanting under my breath with every step of grinding bone and white knuckle. I do not show them the scars under my sleeves, I do not bring them inside and show them my blood, crystallised to burn as incense. I stand in my bland hallway, the cat at my feet, sun half-blinding me and darkness in my heart, and I wish them well.

And I close the door and sink again into silence.)

Long is the way, and hard, that leads down into the dark.


Jul. 12th, 2007 11:11 pm (UTC)

Jul. 13th, 2007 11:59 am (UTC)
Well, more that what you had said had a ring of "rightness" about it. The sort of feeling you get when you know things are going as they are suppost to be