He gave her a tuning fork and a swirl of timespace. He gave to her
incandescence and hand-plucked stars. She lay on a silver ledge
overlooking the universe. Stars were around, stars and stepping stones
of grey metal. There was a bonfire behind her and glancing white light
from behind. The context was mintyfresh gutshattering and full of
galaxies. Before them opened an uncharted cosmic expanse.

He knelt before her shirtless and in full force, his rippling muscles
bright in white light of distilled universe. He held her head in the
ball of his hand and looked into her eyes. Inside them were pearls.
Inside them were thousand souls bled into one and distilled with
heartcharring love into liquid clarity. He held the stars in the palm
of his right hand, in the left hand he held her heart.

They laughed at teslacoil lightning that passed between them. He
merged the back of his head to hers and united them with a thin gold
thread. Their minds melded together, A bridge grew up. And each time
he looked out he saw the bridge between them. And he knew of the cup
on the other side. They were in timespace. And yet there was at all
times someone watching. Each time a pattern was recognized it
collapsed. So he buried his head in a stream of fire and let no worlds
escape from his tongue.

Out of love for the Goddess God had given to her his sword. So the
gordian knot would have to be untied by man's wits, was the revised
mythology. The gordian know was being bound and unbound each night, an
interlocking web of chains and locks that was arduously deconstructed
by wits of one man only to be bound again by wits of others, a race
between Bathomet and Chouranzon, a race between Prometheus and the
Gods, a race between Soul and Ego, a race between genius and
mediocrity, a race between eros and jooky, a race between God and the
social infestation - a race constant and self-refurbishing, a race
continuous and effervescent, a race that would pick up then stop
deadlocked then pick up again each time a soul popped out of a lock
and spoke what it knew. The gordian knot was a nasty bastard, and there

were souls on all sides that were bled incognizant. The stronger the
soul, the more blood was extracted and poison seeped in. And people
were very confused as to where the Gordian knot began or ended. Most
called it sanity but their hysterical behavior belied their claims.
Many tried to untie the knot for a while, bloodied their minds, and
were further bound. And were deposited at various places inside the
knot, the farther along the further bound. He would unravel a part of
the knot and give the combination to the central invisible. A told
memory allowed the lockers to tie him, and yet fury or speech in its
terms - fury or speech in response to hypocrisy utter and mind-
strangling - only bound him further. So he sprinkled the knot with
axe- crushed diamonds and let their sandpaper harshness of perfection
that had been and become seeds of new worlds direct his hands by their
absolute virtue to the slithery center. That contained in itself the
secret.

He knew the shape of the secret and her molecular composition. Each
time he came anyplace close there were voices screaming at him warning
and threatening bloody murder. Each time he went on the way to the
secret and turned back he was covered in brown slime. They said that
the secret was brown slimey. But that was just the final layer of the
infestation. The secret itself was a thousand sparkling souls
contained in translucent gel enfolding golden ovals and radiating
lovelight forever. It stabbed him, it burned him, it impaled his every
nerve with white lightning to have this. She must have been lonely, so
lonely, he thought, lost in the middle of the universe, so beautiful,
so unappreciated, so divine, unable to speak, carrying the world on
her love and covered with darkness that kept her away from anything
that might love her back. There were thousand specks of light in the
sky that day, forming a sphere, and clouds decomposed. Twin specks
were affixed to the top of the atmosphere and waved hello.

She was breathing softly and delicately and insisted that he not say
that he loved her. May this be our home he said. Let us live here and
let us guard it. And look out from here into the cosmos. And bathe in
reflected starlight. And pass glimpses to those that may seek.

She was minty sweetness and full of stars. Her fear made her delicate
and evanescent. They looked into each other's eyes and he kissed her
tenderly on the forehead. You've been through so much he softly
whispered. So much. She breathed galaxies into his heartzone. Shooting
stars flew overhead and dissolved into roses, raining through green of
severed stalks the bright ruby red fire into screaming hearts. He
rested her head on his chest and let her hear his hearts beating. The
universe was speaking through him, and blood was distilled with
diamonds and sparkling stars. She sprinkled cold streams on his head
and he warmed her. Outside and inside.

Her hand was gripping his hand as he held her heart. She was haunting
she was life and death she was distillation of fire and ether she was
seduction to light she was Anna Karenina Circe Virgin Mary Hypateia
Helen of Troy swinging her legs from the ledge overlooking the stars
and holding him close. He sought to be of her. He sought the world on
the inside of her eyelids. There was no other place or time he would
rather be. And each time he looked away he was further bound. So he
continued into the secret while fully knowing that if he were to go
into the essence he craved, the he that was known to the Gordian knot
of linguistic pattern would cease as such to exist. Camus had inspired
him. He had brought him this close. And now he too cried to be
consummated, having seen the outcome of his work. There was a jaded
old man at the door, and a dying dog at whom he spent most of his day
barking. And a web of technoobstruction running the world. He gave the
dog to the Secret and chased the man out the door and waved his stick
and shouted. You that can scald the mind to the bone, make life
beautiful! Make life beautiful to the bone, as beautiful as molecular
structure, as beautiful as is she! There was a foot on the Binah under
the guardianship of Camus, a foot and a cigarette butt, the grey haze
of capitalism socializm indigenizm Christianity and every other
placeholder for man's action. There was no longer a foot on the Binah,
and the place was marble clean but required constant maintenance. Each
time there were words feet returned to Binah, and its glittering
surface was ashladen. So he retained perfect stillness and let the
interconnected web of white sparkling souls lead him along Milky Way.

Something was locking his crown to the top of the grey crystal
mountain. In front of him a black disk and a yellow disk interlocked
and formed a dragon's maw of expressed destiny. His mind's grip
slipped off the Gordian knot, and her head interposed with her feet,
and a finger like stick pointed up at the sky and her eyes were dark
coals and laughed demonically. The airplane came along just as she had
expected. But it was not bombs that rained from this airplane as it
swung around Chiron that morning.

Reposted from 2000

Ilya Shambat.

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