Sometimes angels dress in red at sunset, when the day fades away in a blanket of stars to illuminate its beloved night in the magic of a transient celestial encounter. A delicious expectation fills my heart whenever I see the angels pass silently, unannounced, the moment my gaze turns the corner of a street or fortuitously passes through the living room window.
There is no way to predict when the rose bush will bloom, but it is my caress that warms its sap in its continuous awakening.
Poetry is not the language of poets, but of love and life. Without it, all brilliance fades, all connection becomes denser until, finally, we question who we truly are.
Our consciousness floats between densities, in a continuous and unstable dance that takes us by surprise at the moment, until we recognize that we are dancers co-creating on the stage of eternal evolution.
We are all partners in this game of dualities — sometimes denser, sometimes more subtle — and the evolution of our consciousness is revealed in the tone, in that “how” our body animates, in the way we experience each encounter, each connection, each transcendence — or not.
When, one fine day, we wake up from all supposed freedom, all pseudo-joy and fleeting pleasures, we discover that love is what truly frees us from all bonds, it is what we are, and love does not subjugate, oppress, frighten or hurt itself or the other in which it is reflected and announced.
In this dance of dualities of creation — body and soul, dense being and subtle being — to which we surrender ourselves and from which we are reborn unified, we also find our immutable limit in a profound dimension — our physicality, our gender. Perhaps the evolution of our collective humanity will soften the densities and contrasts of our experience, not provided by science, but in the reverberation of an intimate and essential ascension starting from each one of us.
If we could allow ourselves to be silent and contemplate for just a moment, perhaps we would realize that our sexuality emerges precisely from our limitation, our current immutability. And it is in this condition that love creates and perpetuates us as humanity, through the conception of a completely new and unique unity — a new being, a new life.
When we passionately surrender ourselves to physical pleasure, we strip ourselves and forget who we are, and in that moment of surrender to the most powerful illusion, love reveals itself in the blush of a pulse, in the radiance of a precious existence. So let the light of this fleeting splendor not blind us, let the rapture not captivate us to the point of throwing ourselves into an endless game of mirrors in which we would subjugate ourselves to our limitations, to our human impossibility, casting ourselves adrift in a sea of lost possibilities.
When I open my eyes and my heart, and contemplate the human landscape in which I exist, I realize how shackled we still are in an exacerbated sexualization and its inevitable accompaniments and promises, which involve and submerge our sealed hearts in the puerility of an illusory liberation.
But what is below corresponds to what is above, and on the horizon of this contrast, I glimpse my being in the angels with their reddish flowing gowns discreetly passing by and smiling at me.
October 16, 2024.
Maris. 