Lala The Poet

“We write to taste life twice, in the moment and in retrospect.” ― Anaïs Nin

Month: July, 2014

Mermaid

I dreamt I was a mermaid. Expel from your mind images of the red-headed Ariel, and think instead of ancient marine art, beautiful women draped over monstrous rocks abused by the waves. In my dream I was gorgeous, an angelic Katy Perry with flowing midnight locks, a rose petal mouth, and flawless pale skin tinged with gold.

There was a small group of us, and we were all different. We did not live under water, but inside a magnificent house with large windows and sun drenched rooms. We would crawl, or teeter on the tips of our tails. Mine changed in the light: turquoise, green, blue, silver.

In one of the front chambers of the house, a room that forever pulsed with the immortal amber afternoon, I came across a fence. It was of simple design, rough wood, and only about 4 feet high. Behind it were men, and beyond them, rolling fields of impossible green. I was curious of these creatures, but my mermaid sisters were disinterested and they made to leave; they tugged at my fins and eventually I turned away, but I could not resist a look back. My illicit gaze found the brown eyes of a gentleman, and I suddenly became aware of an invisible thread of diamond between us, a physical connection. I felt my inner core being squeezed by a giant fist. Without a moment’s hesitation, I went to him. He was surprised, bashful, but for all my nakedness, I was not. I drew up to my full height.

“Are you a single man?” I asked. He had barely nodded when I shot a second question, “And are you tired?”

He smiled and frowned at the same time. It was a wonderful face full of thought, and warmth. “Well actually,” he said slowly, “yes.”

Now this was when something most peculiar happened. Somehow I knew, as one knows things in dreams, that he had misheard me. He thought I had said, “Are you trying?” and he had meant, “Yes I am trying”, in that he had had his heart prodded by a woman and seeked to woo her (this woman not being me). This all flashed across my mind in an instant, and I ignored it. My question about his vitality was important to me, as if I myself could aid him, and I clenched my teeth and distorted his understanding in my own mind. He was tired, and he needed me.

I stretched up so that I balanced on the very tip of my tail, and threw my arms around his neck, the fence between us forgotten. He was still talking as I nestled my face into his soft, soft skin, and I felt the tremor of his voice as I pressed my cheek to his throat. For a brief moment he was rigid, silent, but then he relaxed and melted into me.  I held him tighter. I truly believed that the life in my own blood could seep through my skin into this man, that my soul could leak out a little and strengthen him.

My fins ached from standing tall, but I did not move. I wanted to hold him forever. I sensed him smile against my shoulder. We didn’t mind that everyone was looking. I gently clawed the nape of his neck, and lost my fingers inside his hair. Oh his hair! The memory of it has followed me about for three days. It was black and shiny like dipped olives, and smooth to the touch like wolfs down. I let the scent of him take me.

After an eternity I drew away and looked into his face. He was gorgeous, all smiles and chocolate eyes, innocent and alluring in equal measure. I knew he loved me. But in my strange mermaid’s heart, the surety of my own beauty dulled the pleasure of receiving his love, as if it were inevitable. Still, I leant forward, and very slowly – kissed him.

 

mermaid

Desert Flower

Can an entire war rage inside one person?

Can a single soul contain the conflict of a thousand creatures, warriors of Heaven and Hades, pushing, pulling, suffocating and saving over and over? I feel as if the polar forces of the Universe are coexisting inside of my chest, a brutal harmony – not between good and evil, but between truth and confusion.

The noise is astounding. In my ears the clashing of swords, the angelic choirs, the gnashing of teeth, the wails and screams. Oh how it aches!

I ask you, will my body split in two?
Can the Flesh bleed for the woes of the Spirit?

I seek comfort in the world around me but it is barren. A wasteland where cynics breed, where the Enemy feasts on the harvest of its corruption. All judge me because I am an alien in their land. A strange creature who loves invisible things. And all the while the war racks my tiny body. A bloody pinprick on the Earth.

Who will fight for me?
It would be so easy to slip into oblivion, to shut my heart and fall.

But then – from out of the wilderness comes a whisper. What is this? It rushes across the vast flat sands and knocks me down, down, down, backwards into a strong warm embrace.

Oh!

My right cheek rests upon a chest of innumerable proportions and I can hear the deep thud of a steady heartbeat. I am overwhelmed by the safety of these arms, and yet my body trembles with fear, a delicious giddy kind of terror.

Dare I open my eyes?
I do.

I look up into the face of my captor, and cry out. Such beauty! In this one moment I see that those blazing eyes know all of me, every fibre, every thought, every tear, and they are swimming with pure unbridled love.

Why does He look at me so? Does He not know I’m a fool?

He sets me down on my feet, my legs still trembling like a new born foal’s, and He takes my face between His hands. His gaze is consuming; it seems He cannot get enough of me!

Will my body split in two?
Can the Flesh leap for the delights of the Spirit?

A golden peace pulses through me, and the battle is silenced. A drop of understanding pools in my mind, and I see that the war is not within me, but above and below. Any idea of a battlefield bound to my rib cage is an illusion, sneaky little lies to throttle my joy. The status of my soul is not in question; it has already been claimed and it dances inside the heart of my God.

The truth – ah, the truth – is that my purpose is not to fret over a spiritual warfare that is so beyond me, but to bask in the glory of the person who made me, the lover of my soul. I am His, and He is mine.

As these revelations bloom, the Holy Spirit looks at me, and I blush. Why does He look at me so?

Will my body split in two?
Can the heart shatter with the ecstasy of love? How do my bones not burst out with such happiness?

The whisper across the hot red sands. “Come away with me.”
My King takes my hand and kisses it. Suddenly I am bold; my blush evaporates leaving my cheekbones high and strong.

I know why He looks at me so.

As I am lead towards the hills, all doubt is bled out with every step, until I am simply giddy with delight, until I am dancing.

I know why He looks at me so.

desert-flower

“The Sleep Philosopher.”

Last night in bed I found myself hanging about a little longer in that oh so slippery limbo between consciousness and oblivion. I didn’t question it because I knew that if I did, I would be jerked back awake, heart pounding, limbs quivering. So I just waited. 

And then I began to dream in words.

No pictures, no sounds, just a smooth stream of words flowing through me like water, filling up the cracks in my parched mind. I felt a deep thirst being quenched, a hunger so hidden within the layers of my cerebrum, I never would have found it when fully conscious. 

As to the nature of this unchained monologue, it was to do with growth, comparing spiritual advancement to that of the flesh. It was a commentary, a string of thought and philosophy. In that delicious liquid state of half-sleep, I spoke to myself. 

I am young now, I said, I am learning, adapting, growing, and I will continue to grow – until I reach the crest of that hill. I will dance atop it a while, captured in a golden moment of perfect balance, and then I will start to decay. There will be no tears, no fighting, just a lazy waltz with Time until I am gently pulled back into the ground whence I came. 

I think I smiled in my sleep then, just before these words cleaved the dark:

Your spiritual journey is not like that.

My eyelids fluttered, my semi-conscious brain suddenly understanding all. My thoughts could not be held accountable here, I had no defence so close to the edge of sleep, and it was truly liberating. Who can help what they dream? It allowed for a freedom of ideas, romance, clarity, and above all, an acceptance of a truth that may otherwise be questioned by a fully aware, suspicious brain. And so it went on –

Unlike my body, my spiritual growth is unending. 

Each day I am reborn, totally innocent, totally new, but still living in the gift of all my acquired wisdom. To be created both child-like and ancient is a soul-dizzying existence. And yet it is my portion. I come from a place barely believed in, a place both infinitely old and ageless, a place beyond physics, beyond fantasy, beyond the clock. I cannot reason with it, I cannot try and understand it; I simply believe it. Why else would I long for a land I’ve “never been”. Because I have been.

With each sunrise, my spirit is drawn out and I am taken deeper, soaring higher, all the while being trusted with the secrets of the universe. I am showered with gifts of untold pleasures and soft whispers of an everlasting love. I am trusted! I am held in esteem, I am the princess to whom the King confides. I am eternal. Unlike my bones, my soul becomes more nourished with time; eternity is barely sufficient to unravel such mystery, such undeserved delight. 

I remember now – in my bed I began to weep, the tears falling silent on my sodden pillow. I dared not move, such was this moment of unspoiled revelation. In that pocket of time, I knew all, without knowing anything, like a small child who has been given a great and complicated book. I held it in my hands, I could smell its leather, but I was still running my little fingers over the first page, taking it in, enjoying every word. 

The truth is ancient, stretching back before all things, even older than my soul, but that night in my bed, I tasted it. We were made for each other. 

I was almost asleep now.

To seek You is to love You, and oh how I ache for You. Each morning I shall call to You, and by evening we shall be unrecognisable, such is the beauty of our union.

My lips trembled, still wet with my tears. I very gently wiped them with my fingertips
before finally falling asleep.

Lala