That Divine Spark

I dared love once to show me the truth.  Face me head on show me what the mettle of love is and can be.  It starts with the wind.  Always it starts with the wind.  The touch of that which cannot be seen can only be felt. Always it caresses my skin pulling my mind towards you.  I imagine your hands live in that space.  As it ruffles my skirt and pulls at my hair.  I turn towards it like a flower to the sun.  Thirsty for another breath of you on my skin in my hair felt and not seen.  It seems at the oddest times you are in fact always there.

Never dare love to show you its face because it ends up being your own ravaged by tears.  Always tears fall like rain in joy in sadness in grace in pain.  The storms are the best with the drops of rain and the whip of the wind.  The build is where the truth lies. . anticipation.  It brews slowly softly within to break its wrath across this plane.  I feel the rise in me the instinct to meet it.  You can only survive that which you bear yourself to brunt and even then it is merely a mercy that survival is possible. It breaks open, shattered in bolts of lightning across the sky. The sky bleeds, the earth feeds.

Elemental and sublime in the heart of knowledge I remain complete in the hearth of my emptiness I surrender to defeat.  A force of nature that has rend and set asunder all earth, hell and heaven in a calamity of indisposed inevitable unbearable music.  The gnashing of teeth it’s called, the lamenting, the unfulfilled moaning. We forget in chaos the Universe was born.  Only in chaos will such marvels come into being. It lies in the clash. It lives in the fight. The push for solidarity against the desire for union.

The will of destiny is the mating of chance and karma. They dance around each other like pulses of violent intensity with passionate disregard.  They meet and recoil, the joining painful, sweet, yielding, hard, impossible, inevitable. One carries the light, the other bourn by the dark. Its completion that the space calls for.  Meeting of different ends to form a cohesive whole.

What is born lives in the soulful coupling of two never meant to meet but must know each other. The boundaries of commitment unresolved, unrefined, primordial and absolute. As one sees the other hears, as one inhales the other exhales, as one touches the other feels. The answer is not clear, or spoken but felt.  It moves in the subconscious that causes the belly to pull, the heart to skip. A knowing that has nothing to do with logical comprehension matching to identical pairs.  This is the way of nature filling in what was left unfilled. For each open space there is matter to align perfectly to it. Fingers lace, skin meets blends joined.   Separation an improbable and probable instance cursed to join in that moment and walk different planes in all others.

Forever together, forever apart. Bound in the endless dance of existence.

12/12/12 @ 12:12AM EST

I told myself I wanted to write and post a blog on 12/12/12 at 12:12 AM.  I didn’t know what to talk about.  Lately my mind has been set to magic.  Not just any magic but that special magic that can happen between a man and a woman.  Love is my thing so I stay the course.

Recently I had to make some very pertinent decisions in regards to my own love life or lack there of.  They say that in order to let something wonderful come into your life you have to be willing to let something equal or more go.  That’s what I did.  I feel bereft, a little lost, somewhat foolish.  It’s a step in a direction that I haven’t ever really taken.  I’m finally committing to letting go of all that has previously held me back and relying on the compassion of Fate to not leave me out in the cold over it.

I believe we all have an innate fear of walking away from a situation that isn’t really working. I think we get so used to things not working that it becomes all we know.  It’s familiar and we don’t like change.  So when something is just even slightly better than we’ve ever known, we settle.  And when we settle we have to convince ourselves of our choice constantly.  We are constantly trying to reinforce the idea that this is what we really want and we should fight for it because it can’t get better.  That is a lie and an illusion.  Irony is the fact that we never doubt that things can get worse, however we hardly ever believe things can get better.

It’s hard because I’ve known such high moments of better when it comes to love.  My first serious relationship break-up is one of the loveliest bittersweet moments of my life.  The breakup of my marriage, my most devastating. My committed relationships have been few and far between.  There have been 2. Then like everyone else the ones I wanted and could never have, the ones that got away, the ones I squandered, and ones where commitment was never the goal. But regardless of the status, the emotional intensity was of a caliber that I can’t settle anymore.

The result is a woman that no matter her level of loneliness or desire for a relationship, does not lie to herself about the feeling behind a potential encounter.  And I know how lucky I’ve been that somehow the things I’ve known have lit a furnace within me that doesn’t leave me to seek empty relationships and sexual experiences to warm me.  I know what the real thing feels like, what it sounds like and how it moves. I won’t cheapen that knowledge and the pains and joys I experienced to gain it by accepting whatever happens to be there.  The past is useful because it builds discernment. The trick is managing to not live in the past because it may not seem like it but the past takes up so much space.

So on this magical day where numerologists are doing handstands I will speak on the biggest miracle of all. Love, true blinding lasting love that burns for an eternity without fail or end.  There is a thing that defines actual possession.  It is a sense of belonging to another not thru simple words, honor, or mentally judged dedication.  It is a deep soul knowledge that cannot be displaced by space or time. It is a fact, a law of nature.  The only thing that prevents us from all living in this space is our own denial of its existence. 

So on this magical day recite this out loud so I may curse you with love’s glorious fury and sublime subjugation.

I wish you the love you need, not the love you seek

I wish you the joy of divinity, not what people speak

I wish you the cradle of belonging, instead of striving to fit in

I wish you the grace of nature’s magic, let your new life begin

So go out and fall in love and if already are. . . Fall HARDER. .

Always w/ love,

Sue

Unconscious Love and the Path to Duende

In some sports and other physical activities when someone hits a streak of perfection they are thought to be unconscious.  In basketball especially.  A player can shoot lights out for a quarter and he’s having an amazing game.  If he shoots lights out for an entire game, has double digit assists and rebounds he is unconscious.  The idea stems from the player attaining a visceral plane of existence beyond themselves, beyond the limitations of their own body.  He has in essence abandoned his own form and become in those moments the game itself.

Flamenco

In dance and music the Spanish refer to it as Duende. Its most commonly associated with Flamenco. With their attempt to quantify this elusive concept they describe a nature that creates something to aspire to.  It carries the power of a dark goddess and an insistent muse inciting liberation from all forms.  The spirit of evocation.  What makes music move us to become it in the form of dance, or when singing or playing an instrument.  It is the tapestry of human will, emotion, thought and form where all pours into and out of the spirit and soul at once.

Christopher Mauer the editor for “In Search of Duende” has isolated it to four key elements, irrationality, earthiness, a heightened awareness of death, and a dash of the diabolical.  The Duende is not a possessor but a foe.  It flashes the artist a glimpse of the Universe, life, death and the beyond forcing them to acknowledge the primal forces civilization has attempted to weed out. For to create something of a Duende nature you must drink from the fountain of the divine.  With ambrosia on your lips the art is force of creation reshaping the artist, the viewer and in that moment the fragments of time and space themselves. The artist battles with the dark, the opus, to try and harness it’s power with their own will. The nature of it is to consume and the will of the artist must fight to prevent being lost to it because then it is misspent force producing only destruction.  The terms are simple; you either create or be destroyed. The force cares not which one is the result, only that the show, the dance, the song go on.

Beyond

Duende, being unconscious, are states of love.  Instant blind unquestionable moments of human connection to the will of creation.  Built in a second yet somehow lasts an entire lifetime.  When you hear the plaintive whining, words of desperation, pain, elation, humiliation in the verse, the chords, the pull of a song like Leonard Cohen’s Hallelujah.  The untamed temerity, angst, dark lord rise of Ravel’s Bolero.  The soul shattering burn of desolation, delusion, and degradation of Percy Sledge’s When a Man Loves aWoman. You are in its presence.  Its seat its foundation its very will empowered by love, of a concept an idea and even upon occasion an actual person. Our love and ability to feel and pursue it is a myriad of self-serving justifications of our own selfish desire to know joy and joy alone.  However we forbid the whole story choosing to determine the measure of that love, only the joy, only the sweet, only the succinct. 

The beast will not abandon parts of itself to humor your earthbound delusions. It is a full serving, a full course that has to be taken in as it is whole and unbound. It will show you suffering and revel in it knowing how sweet that next climax of joy will now be.  It will bury you under your own filth knowing the elation that freeing yourself from it will bring.  It knows love in ways that only subjugation can embody.  The will of the spirit is not a benign entity but a ravenous specter.  A poltergeist of your own creation that hungers for the fight because in battle alone can it reveal its true face.

Instinctively we seek the ones that will bring us the fight.  We seek the ones that will embody our spirit, empower, provoke, goad so we can rise to the fight again.  Know our true faces. FEEL.  The pain, the rage, the fear, the hope, the rise, the push, the ease, the release, and the fall.  Always it begins and ends with the fall, pain the catalyst and the affirmation of life, of love. Search through those dark, dark, dark spaces.  Love lives even there.  Love sees itself clearly there. It settles with the comfort of an old friend, for in the dark all is free. Stare into its phantom less eyes and know the wonder of the creation of life again and again.  All rises from the darkness and that’s where all shall return. 

Flamenco Courtesy of http://www.ebsqart.com/Art/Portraits/acrylic/599088/650/650/DUENDE.jpg

Beyond Courtesy of http://library.manoa.hawaii.edu/about/exhibits/images/portrait.gif