VIII. The Lion's Gate

Transformation is a feral bitch that only Love can complete.

I.

I never talked when i was 12. Bit my tongue over
my father's forced games of chess trying to get
me to speak. He taught me how to play dumb
with men. "They become comfortable, let down
guards, show you who they are." he said. "Play
Columbo" he said, "a smart detective". The slight
upward shift of my eyes must have revealed the
"Who?" inside my head because he proceeded
to force me to watch it weekly with him, mis-
interpreting my silent contempt as consent.

II.

When I was older I struggled quietly against the
morality of it. But then realized it would only be
a trap for liars; the disconnected; the disinvested
in relationships. And didn't they deserve it? It saved
me more than once, but not to my surprise like this.
And that's what it was about, saving me; not sentencing
anyone else to an absence they would barely miss.
I am no damsel in distress; no one can save me
except myself.

III.

I considered telling you because, you see, you seemed
different. I couldn't find words that didn't sound
like an edict or ultimatum over spilled with ego. I really
wanted you to know what I was up to. I really wanted
to fuck. it. all. and fall, then rise back up and suffer
a broken body rather than wondering how it would've
felt. I want you to know that because I wanted the
future for us; that final lap of age when we could be
naked and fat without giving a shit about anything.
The final meeting; the twelfth leaving of this place.

IV.

The extra rope I allowed wasn't freedom but a test
forming a noose you'd soon lie yourself into. I tried
to believe, ignored red flags, white lies piling up,
but knew if i tried to tell you
You wouldn't believe
You wouldn't believe
You would not believe...
I could be that smart.
Until your neck snapped; and, reaching
for me to cut you down, you'd never
forget the disconnect across my face.
Nor I yours in the dying of any chance.

V.

I revealed this darkest truth to you because,
you see I'd been touched by some thing greater,
some thing waiting life times for me to connect.
I had been cracked by light, leaving nothing
but a desire to live void of any truth beyond
the second hand of this breathing in. and. out...in...
slower than one not taking the time to observe
would think. And it was you, asking me what
I was hiding from myself, just as we had, so many
lives ago, agreed you would as a marker home.

VI.

The stilled air, the speeding wind stopping
again, as if to turn and read what my eyes were
saying. The dripping faucet echoing cave-like
through the chambers of rooms. The continual
pulse of appliances, air conditioned emissions
distorting the distant view, the sun hanging
the eastern clothesline, signing off on gratitude
and grievances to the readied moon. Leaves
already floating to their early graves. A garden
giving up the ghost. My soft toes in dry, brittle
grass, hot with circulation and teeming blood.
The crow's feet adorning my eyes from my smile;
the greying of my temples; the joyfulness of my
youth still within me; the lines of my age readying
me. All of this simplicity, this recurring cycle of
returns to live only to remember the only thing
that matters at the end;
This, and no other Truth:

Love Thyself.

VII.

I revealed my darkness. Stood with all the rope
I had, every failed test and future trap I'd set,
and dropped them into the burning bowl of the
blue moon, watched their spirit remains ascend.
Exchanged all life's lessons I had learned for the
company of the naked and unknown experience.
Turned to the heavens with an outstretched heart
as if Jesus praying in Gethsemane and said, if it
not possible to let this cup pass, lead me also to
Golgotha and crucify me too, that I may Love
and breathe and sing as I was always meant to do.

VIII.

"Eli, Eli, lama sabachthani?"

~