An early morning Spring snow finally gives way to a warm, morning Colorado sun. The clouds part like white balls of fluff in a loving breeze, allowing for the chill to be transformed into a comfortable radiance that renews the will of life all around. The mountains, steadfastly holding their place in the West, hide their summits in the scattered remains of the snow that was and the storm that gave way to a warming of the soul.
Blessed am I to pay attention to such things. My soul searches for a vindication of the beauty I feel around me. The cold, bitter winds prepare me for the beauty of the warmth that will follow them, a warmth sure to come if I am just patient enough to weather the storm. There it is, in the cracking of the sky-borne veils that hide me from a different reality, the truth for which I’ve felt was coming. My skin warms, my eyes close as the smile of realization crests my lips, and a song written long ago rises anew within my breast.
“I love you,” I whisper silently to the ether. The winds know my target, and they carry the notes of my hymn toward waves cresting gently on an open shore. As the rays of hope flow through the clouds and leap from the open heart of our star, the snows surrender to the caresses of love and begin to flow downward from the hills, replenishing the oceans where we bathe. The mountains and the seas are connected despite the miles that separate them, each owing the other their very existence. We, in our own ebb and flow, both climb and swim according to the seasons of our lives. Once in a while, we find another traveler who not only shares in our flow but helps light the way our hearts tell us to go.
“I love you, too,” comes the reply. Sometimes I feel it in the mist of waves spraying as they crash on rocky shores. Sometimes it comes as the ground gives way under my feet as they test the essence of a foundation. Yet it always comes with her voice, somehow echoing in my chest and silencing the voices in my head. It always is her, and it always announces the arrival of something wonderful.
Behind me there is nothing I care to carry. Dead weight only slows me down. Ahead of me is nothing I care to see. Winds have a habit of changing a landscape on which I’ve yet to stand. Here, where my feet touch the soil, are the remnants of yesterday blowing in the wind mixed with the streams ahead as they quench the thirst of my desire, both only relevant in what gifts I am to see. There are freshly bloomed flowers marking their time with a sweet fragrance I can’t help but love, and razor-sharp pebbles just waiting to tear at my flesh should I stumble and take a fall. I bend to smell the flowers being careful not to harm them in my admiration, and mock the stones where they lie, reminding them while I cannot crush them beneath my feet they are, in fact, beneath my feet. They may reply at some point, but for now they simply help me enjoy the scent of life around me.
I wonder as I wander, having faith in my every footstep even as I question when the promise will arrive. I felt her there for some time, hearing her voice in the splashes of mountain waterfalls and the drips of thawing winter snows. I’ve felt her love as I wash the blood from my tired flesh, and known her love even in the stings of pain as the water invades my wounds. I’ve entered her a million times in my dreams and risen her to ecstasy even in the kiss we are sure to share. My strength resounds to hold her tight, a perseverance born to honor her in the way that she was born to be. My imperfections have been razed to show her beauty each and every day. I have been tested and tempered to be the warrior she justly deserves, in the way she has always dreamt it would be.
Like a roughly-hewn statue I stand, heart open and arms outstretched to receive her when she comes. She will finish the masterpiece that time and failure has exposed, providing a shine to the marble, a gleam to the weathered stone. I, in turn, will adorn her soul with love, and shower her heart with truth and honor that would make the Stoics proud.
That is what I was born to do. That is what I’ve lived to provide.
Lovers such as we, lovers born to stand tall together in the winds of time, know the snowy clouds and the Sun sure to break their icy grip. Hand-in-hand the truth revealed makes the gods of love envious of their passion. No work do we share, for love like this flows effortlessly through time and space to feed the oceans where we bathe. The demons that we’ve defeated to finally arrive in each other’s arms know better than to test their luck, accepting defeat rather than the sight of love left to run rampant on the mountaintops. The steely threads we weave bind not just hearts, but truths, together unbreakable regardless of the test at hand.
This is what we’ve were born to be. This is what we have lived to share.
Such stories written in the annuls of eternal truth has known no limitations. This light is not born of man or woman but of the essence of both. This sound is not issued through the reeds of egoic woodwinds but sung by the heavens through the tender strings of a lover’s harp. Such an orchestra is not created by the whims of tired minds but assembled through the strength of will only twin souls can muster. Together they forgo their fear, tamp down their doubts, and rise above the clouds to share a Sun that’s always been there, waiting for the storms to end.
~The End
TG (2018)