Chasing Down Joy
Her Promise, Power and Restoration
I want to confer with Joy today. I want to hold her and tell her that she can have all of me. I want to partner with her and run roughshod through the valley and shadow of death. I want her at my side when I rage across the sky, wreaking havoc on the heads of the Harpies, those washed-out serpents that revel in tearing out the windows of my soul for sport. I want to hear her scream my name when she brings me to the precipice of my most pressing desire—to bear witness to the obliteration of the fear that remains a chasm between us.
So I sit, watching the door, longing for the swoosh, the breeze, and the rush of wind when it swings open to announce the beginning of my new birth, an unbridled lust and carefree passion, with such sophistry as to rival the greatest of Greek tragedies. I sit in anticipation then, skin stretched and taut, clothing under duress and stressed to the point of exposure; my whole system is in an uproar. Every fiber and nerve ending is raging. The fire in the pit of my soul has come to collect its full measure and can no longer be denied.
I see her at last. On entry, she is timid at first, either unaware or purposely oblivious to the impact of her presence on my body. I don’t dare move lest she become one with the invisible light, never to be seen again. My eyes met hers, and I can’t hold back the tears. There are too many. The bridge won’t hold. The dam, so well-constructed and so elaborate in design and purpose, taps out within minutes—and that with prejudice. I lose her for a moment through the water flooding my room; my eyes have become fountains from which all the Noachian deluge is as mist tossed at the mercy of an enraged hurricane.
I am powerless. All the bones inside my chest have conspired against me, leaving me flat, formless, and without anchor. She moves to me, the air carrying her aloft on petals of assurance. I am trembling; no wrinkle or hair is bound or imprisoned by the stark, repugnacious stillness of the night. I am a living wave upon my bed. She sees me, and in her face I see pity, comforted by longing, steadied by the goddess’ original pledge to me.
With my left breast I will hide you from your enemies.
With my right arm, I will slay all the world's foes for you.
With my lips I will dress you in splendor and drape you with the sun’s fire.
With my womb, I will renew your strength at every moonrise.
Trust in the water I share with you today.
Drink deeply and know that you are loved eternally.
I close my eyes, but she remains my focus. Her skin is pure and rich. Caramel hues and radiant browns lightly cascade across her body; deep, impenetrable villas of lush and unrelenting hunger adorn the ample curves and valleys of a body no mortal will ever unravel or understand. She is there, and while another enjoys the promise of her rhapsody, the fruit of her divine nectar, and the soft, wet depths of her power, I can draw solace in knowing that of the seven, I have five. Besides, Patience sold me his birthright eons ago—I can wait.