The fire that burns you also heals you

I fell in love with someone.

It was a whirlwind, a bright spark, a rush of desire that I have felt with no one else yet on this earth. Yes, I examined each and every one of my relationships. I have concluded that even with memories faded and tarnished and changed in the back of my mind, nobody else has called to my spirit and my body with as much magnetism as I felt the instant I met this person.

It was the catalyst that prompted me to examine (or try to examine) every inch of my life, heart, mind, and what I want out of life. This relationship introduced me to aspects of myself that had lain latent for such a long time.

It opened up new pathways that widened invisible cracks in my being that were mere scratches, unnoticeable until the force for which they were waiting made itself present. The sparks of this relationship ignited a flame, the same sensuous flame of desire that prompts poets to try to grasp and understand and breath life into.

And now here I sit, burning with this flame that is on the verge of running rampant.

I stand before that flame, asking of myself to go into it and see what it holds on the other side. I am not afraid to examine this inferno. I am, in fact, eagerly staring into the inferno feeling its heat, hungry for the truths, wondering whether they will be hard and bitter to my taste or if they will be soft, sweet, and honey-flavored.

I shake and tremble and the fierce howl of desire forces its way up past cracked lips, sliding past broken sighs and fading cries. All that I am cannot contain this cracked-open dam, and I am no longer content with what was. I have the scent now of what can be, and hungry am I for that quarry. I want great, not good. I want passion and lust and aching desire and to get lost in the gaze of my beloved.

I want spark to meet spark, and to temper this raging firestorm into something more manageable.

Always I burn.

I went seeking growth and was met by a wild woman who was curled up, whimpering and waiting to be released. I went seeking fertile land on which to plant my seeds and in one serendipitous instant I was met by cracked and parched soil. I fed that parched soil with a full ocean of tears (with their salty essence and moon dust minerals) and the syrupy sweetness of relentless passion and still it asked for more.

I sang and danced upon the land, using feet and hands to push together the cracks and adding tears to make a ragged and muddy scar to hold it together, even as the pain of it burned me. I held my face to the sun and said I’ll take more, for my pain is what allowed healing to at last take root into those dusty wastelands.

My pain cleansed out the wounds in the landscape of my being, and healing full of grace and honey began its slow slide into the cracks.

And oh, this sacred concoction, it burns. And I burn still more, rising to face this wicked healer.

And still I will rise in the morning, and even with tears in my eyes, I will ask for more. And when the fire dims and ashes are all that is left of what once was but is no longer, these ashes will give rise to something new. I will ask for more until at last a day will dawn, diaphanous and hazy with birdsong floating in the breeze, when I will be robed with grace instead of shame-torn garments.

I will await that day more or less patiently, trusting that it will indeed arrive. And so, love, should you.

About aletalane

I am a learner.
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