the Tower of Brahma - Chapter 27.3 - Son and the Moon

09/01/04

Submerged. Exhale. Inhalation of manhood filling my lungs, gripping my chest with a firm man's hand. Breathing is labored and exhausting. These turbulent times are beating the soft parts out of me. Forging firm and stern from weakness and shame.

I bask in the mirror of lunar delicacy, driven to a point of singular unthought. My mind is still and ripples only occasionally, but lies quiet and calm under the moon's cold, marble touch. Moonlit massage sends shivers down my spine and I am whole.

I begin to slip and fall from its grip and I flounder about flailing, reaching for something to cling to. But the cold moon defies me, its warmth and glow the mirrored brilliance of the obstructed sun. It cares not for me or my woes, or me at all. It is a rock in the sky, spinning like clockwork, spinning on until our final days.

Lunar fantasies come crashing back down to the dirt. Firm soil, rich and ripe for growth of something from the smallest of nothing. A seed planted will produce something that serves a purpose in this world of practical necessities.

The light of the moon still reigns down upon me, but I do not regret my fall from its splendor. Instead I cherish my brief moments wrapped in her arms, when it had transcended the reality of science and became myth just long enough for me to feel the ancient female flow.

Leaving her is hard, but I feel firm and stout. I feel chiseled and cold. Stuck in funk and the mire of an unquiet mind. I please myself through her, not feeling my own intense emotions but rather escaping into her pulses of exstacy. Feeding off her intense submission to the power I wield, I grow stronger and more alive.

What do I want? To cast the light and warm the world? Doing what I can to deliver unto the masses long summer days basking in my warm glow. The earth trims my light and paints the moon as part of our dance. From full to new, from new to full, our hide and seek games with our carousel hearts.

I can never own the moon, nor would I want to. She is splendor and beauty, basking and coming alive under the son's loving gaze. To capture her is to deny her that which makes her so appealing, her independent death and rebirth.

What would the sun want? Is it simply there to provide and burn on alone in the dark void of the unknown cosmos? Where is its purpose and desires? Buried deep within its swirling gasses and supernova heat lies something that we will never see, but something we will never be without.