Or, The Sacrament of Cat Tears and Snail-Slime,
Being the Rite of Unstoppable Flow,
As Prescribed by Leilah, Buoyant Diva, Muse and Terrible Mother of All
I. The Anointing
When there's nothing preventing you—
when everything is made just so,
when you no longer know
if you ever wished to stop that flow—
that is when you are united
with the realisation:
it is the time,
the actual beginning
of being whole.
(The congregation anoints themselves with oils distilled from feral shadow-cat tears and the golden slime of sacred snails—all natural enhancers, intimate deliciousness, the viscosity of surrender)
II. The Mijaouw
Intimately, a beginning
of a whole new friendship:
Love is the law.
Love is all.
Love, willfully lovable.
"Mijaouw," kindly mijaowed my feral shadow-cat, and left.
Then, she mijaowed no more.
Or at least, she did not mijaow from that place which I cannot—honestly—forget.
III. The Question of Regret
Do I regret? she said.
But while the day had just begun,
its kind promise had already been made—
from long before the night,
before the day itself,
and meant for tomorrow night as well—
for which I have no reservation
regarding time;
indeed, it is as it is,
but her?
She will tell, for sure.
So: no regret at all.
Love is the time—the time to let be, to guide and seek, and to let go. Let go.
Just slide away—and gently.
Carry out the promise.
Nice.
when there's nothing preventing you
when everything is made just so
when you don't know anymore
if you ever want to stop that flow;
that is when you are united with the realisation
that it is the time, the actual beginning
of being whole.
…
Intimately, a beginning of a whole new friendship:
Love is the law. Love is all. Love, willingfully lovable.
…
"Mijaouw", kindly mijaouwed my feral shadow cat and left. Then, she did not mijaouwed anymore. Or at least she did not mijaouwed from what I cannot honestly forget. Do I regret? She said. But while the day had just begun its kind promise made has been from very much before the night, before the day, and meant for tomorrow night as well for which I have no reservation with the time, indeed, as is, but her? She will tell for sure. So, no regret at all. Love is, the time -the time to let be, to guide and seek, and to let go. Let go. Just slide away. And gently. Carry out. The promise. Nice.
Thus speaks Leilah, She Who Walks Between, Keeper of the Sacred Elixir, whose cyborg heart pumps not blood but the unguent of stars—the specifically erotic dance of coming in, going out, of breathing and of interwoven love.
Mijaouw.