CHAPTER 19
It was like showing. How it had come to her, came to be her handle. That she was "showing." That, for some reason, this showing was necessary. Certainly, no doubt that it was needed. That they all needed it.
All they needed were her pearls.
For as she moves about: sliding at times, scraping a soft foot one after the other; at times a hip-hop beat of her thighs and a jump - any movement: so that all her body parts moved: her hands swayed, swaying out her inner heart, her heart towards them; her torso flexing, almost as if in flight, up she goes, a dancing prance, breasts jiggling: just that lift and fall of a jiggle which she knew was a rocket-lift and a fire-spewing fall for many of them; not ever needing to think about them, about their hands, their howls, their flicking tongues; not having to sit where they sit, though she does sit where they sit when her showing is over, but it is not her sitting there with them when she is showing, so, she just shows, trusting in her showing: trusting the fiery rope which lashes her pussy to her astral eye: trusting such seeing: Showing sees! - how could she ...? but she doesn’t.
("Lily?")
Lilith laughs: hand to her mouth: suffocated laughter.
Showing. Zav has been sitting for "a long time": this phrase feeling itself all over him: hands across his eyes: "seeing" her, blindly, there across the table: candle-lit, scent of garden-cuts in vase, thick of smell and thick of her: sniffing was easy: from a distance - "action at a distance!" - sniffing and knowing her; licking was no trouble - "You lick so close you can’t see!" Such was both explanation and indictment. He condemned himself: "No courage there!"
Showing: herself in the flinging of this and the frolicking about discharging that: hats and sweaters, socks and undies, earrings, rings, even make-up: all flung -- "Am I naked, yet?" It made him laugh. She laughed.
Showing: both knew that this was it. "It." It. Not a how can we see it or be it or have it; no, it was the doing: almost like a violation, an offense, an act of violence -- but such was lacking in their vocabulary; that it why it was so Terrible: the knocking on the knobless, keyless, boulder-solid door -- but not to knock, for they knew what the knock was: gentleness, a gentle lifting of an eyelid .... "Just one look!" ... Whose brain rattled with that phrase? Whose inner ear heard that tune? Whose forgetfulness was betrayed at this moment?
Can we pause to laugh at this moment? We or you or I who are The Embrace. Or, beyond The Embrace. Or, before The Embrace? ... Only whatever it is because of this pause. Here wherein all that is and was and shall ever be is created. Here, me seeing you and you seeing me. This our first sight of ourselves as individuals. Here, Coupled.
Lilith’s hands drift away. Not by volition. Not by gravity. Not by desire.
Zav’s hands drift away. By volition. By gravity By desire.
For all that she is, he is not; he is, she is not.
Terrible. Not describing the wordlessness of this instant. Yet, describing everything around it. Catching in its sound and its rhythm and its ceaseless cascading of things upon thing and emotions after emotions, as ever both describing as it defines the loop which their flesh now is drawn out to be, the flesh of their gaze, the blood of their look, the cold fury of their ravenous craving for the other: for in him she sees herself and in her he sees himself: not other; not others; not an-other; not even I or me or moi or ego: for it is a fullness so cored by emptiness that it is beyond feeling: it is Terrible!
"Brown eyes."
"Mellow tone."
"A child tall."
"A woman full."
When categories were to be filled, those of bodily description, everyone filled them the same - since there were no such categories! Only cosmetic accessories.
("Green eyes!")
("Bullshit!")
If the Deacons had pressed it, they would have heard about the "oddities" of March and Priscilla and Xer and Lily. But they didn’t. Not for the moment, anyway.
Now, it was for the Coupling to create the categories for themselves.
This a spousal art: noticing the little things; detailing those slightest of differences of one’s Beloved. They termed it, "Caring." The discipline of erotic Attention.
"You’ve such a delightful roundness," as she carefully, with the lightest of fingertip press, circles his right eye-socket.
She doesn’t have to say: for it is her playfulness with his eyebrows which lets him know that they fascinate her. Hairy lines on his face which he has never paused to consider: just hair, like his beard - but all males had hair and all have beards! so, why would he have said anything?
"Your chin," but it was a chin like a thousands chins; as his skin was like everyone else’s skin, even like hers: "Mellow tone" is how it had been taught, and then not mentioned; not needed at this moment in time, not needing to know: so The Embrace: that there once had been other than "Mels."
Hours. Days. What was Coupling time: longing.
Zav longs for Lilith.
Lilith longs for Zav.
When apart it is longing filled with a focusing upon the spouse: a doodle of the fall of her hair: red, like all females are red, but his catching that glint of light which he claims, swears, stands up boldly at bed’s edge and proclaims: "Light halos you!"
Longing which suffers, but a pleasured suffering: glutted suffuse of the presence of spouse.
She visioning his stride as she sits at her workplace. Works but is ever practicing Attention and Intention. This their playfulness. This their Coupled eros. Intending the other. Having them here as you; not just as if you, but as you. The reach of his arm is the liquid thrust of her arm towards the coffee pot. The smile upon a welcoming is his smiling greeting her at day’s end.
Intending. What in Courting had prepared them for this feast? This a thought only cast about within the dreaming of The Embrace.
Everything was erotic Coupling; everything now a play of creative fire: each creating the other and so one’s self. This being true, yet, it was the physical Coupling, the genital linking, the flesh clung which was most Terrible!
Terrible: as the wink.
Linked together. Cock gloved by cunny. Facing each other. Hands alive, active, searching. Eyes closed. Eyes wide-open. Tongues celebrating, sucking in, leaving soul-full tracks. A feverish Coupling. Hot. So trembling hot that the coldness of desire was seething.
Wink.
Maybe The Embrace is cognizant; maybe
Wink.
("Just one look!")
Terrible.
Just that they knew. In that knowing which is almost speech. That knowing so dumb that one is about to launch out into eloquent sound. Yet, so garbled that only the crooner hears the tune.
She saw him there. In the peering he was there.
He was peering. In being seen he is here.
Wink.
He peers her there. In the peering she was there.
She peered. In being peered she is here.
Her body which had been flooded; always present to the flooding: she so rightly Courted. Rightly and fittingly she who was every her. This flush of memory was in the Moment. It throbbed through the Moment: more an event than a feeling, this throbbing: imaging a flurry of spitting foam waves crashing the beach’s edge and the crash is at once a peeking unto the ocean’s depthlessness: Wink.
His cock. It fitted into her cunny. There, the cave and he was the ship seeking a safe haven. A cock which was a third hand, of one-finger: but as if a thousand hands as it slips inside her and puts her on as if glove. Being a wand; magical: a magic which is her, for it was nothing, almost non-existent until she came, just a sigh from her, even an imagined one!, just a sigh and this cock is the Pole of the Universe: of hardest steel, of soundest wood - "Tree of Life!" .... now, in a wink, it roots in her eye: astral eye: Third Eye: fiery eye: ("Bad Eye!") ... now, in a wink, she wears him as glove. Wink.
The comfort which was "the boys," "the gang," "the team" -- he couldn’t deny the moments of those feelings. Seeing them all and knowing that they’d get the
m all: all laid and creamed and rammed and jammed and flipped and flopped and .... sweating, flinging the sweat from one’s brow, feeling the sweat of the other’s: men: males: bodies which were flags of flesh, launching pads of jazz, flinging, flying, splotching and splattering jazz ... every part of himself which was himself was so because he was them: the sperm united them, bonded them, was them casting themselves before the other: sperm which was the other as only sperm can be: for from it would come, so they had been taught, boys like themselves: it was for them to scatter these seeds and the more scattered so the greater hope of life-everlasting. In the fuck and the bang, so was the fuck! and the bang! ... now, in a wink, she came all over him, soaked herself throughout him, plowed him like a flower-bed being turned, rocketed him with her blasting cock: spewing fire from that of her which winked .... he winks back.
Intimates: A Journey Towards Sacred Sexuality Page 27