Intimates: A Journey Towards Sacred Sexuality

by Francis Kroncke

CHAPTER 25

  Cilla. Coming now to call her only and ever, "Priscilla." Not granting any space and time its divide, or, at least, not the astral divide which was blasted away that moment she became Ancient – became Embrace.

  Why isn’t Priscilla fully pregnant? They were four-square enough such that this became her own singular question: had its life in her dreaming. Point: it never left, might never leave her dreaming: for when she is Communing with Zav she opens to a different quality, possibly kind, of Big: a full erotic presence: a dreaming which is memory, imagination, magic!

  ("Maybe this is who I am in four-square? This questioning!)

  Did she ever question that any had stopped dreaming? That Africa had simply been left behind in that room? That The Embrace had "let us be" – just "return home," become some kind of normal? "No."

  Lilith first knew this pregnancy the moment she was "in Africa" – knew all that Prissy and Lan, even Lacy Lil: Mormon Women, daughters of previous Ascends, more: of those in The Embrace, itself – knowing that it was them as Four-Square which was The Embrace’s own pregnancy, not in mere body, but as to fuller body, fuller soul – collective, communal, cosmic: Ascended presence: on every dimension … knew as she looked at Priscilla, at her varied Sisterly manifestations that there was a difference: knowing from Mark’s fierce Nothingness that near-Ascends were reborn towards their Final Ascension: so, too, this both the mystery and the obviousness of The Embrace … now, all her children born: all souls Ascending: and Priscilla with Mark, just the first-times, souls barely formed, some yet dead: soulless … how to convey this? Wasn’t Priscilla a near-Ascend? Even Mark? … the four-square knot tightens: Blast!

  Blast. Now a quiet word. A calm word. A word which was smooth. Just that it is happening.

  "I’ve lost all those words. See, I took just one look! and…"

  Why is she holding her ears? "Priscilla. Damn it woman, we’ve gotta get beyond this!"

  Cilla just didn’t want to look; certainly not hear.

  (I need a drink!)

  If it had been the other way, Lilith mulls, if Zav hadn’t somehow – How? … Yeah, that’s how …Lilith grasps the how: but in Mark’s curious way. The columnar balance. The two of them, so fated to be together, but each not knowing fully the why. Mark coming to his howl and hollowing of emptiness upon her body: hollowing flesh, not hallowing soul! ("Bullshit!")

  She – was it by the third or the fourth pregnancy? – taking him to "Big" seed within her: the seed of his emptiness. This is why she so heartfeltly knows her Sister’s plight."But Zav?" This the forever Lover’s question; a query which has no answer, only the throb of yearning given it by the Lover’s lips … Zav: she doubted not that he knew. "But how couldn’t he?" Why didn’t I ever ask?Carrying all those year’s Mark’s sterile seed. But a sterility which is now deadly potent, so Lil peers: those dead seeds drilling their numbing into her skin: Priscilla’s skin: into their dead eggs, generating dead souls!

  Didn’t The Embrace throb violet as I so peered?

  "This is Bad. Truly Bad!" Cilla gasps for air: fears drowning.

  ("Look, it’s simple, The Sins of The Fathers are …")

  ("The Sins of The Mothers …?")

  Bigness:Pregnancy. All had been about this. The Courting. The Coupling. "Obvious." (Okay, I admit. Only obvious now flowing beyond Communing!)But that’s not it. Lil runs her finger down her breasts onto her belly: space and time she plays, taps, surfaces the humor: What has Priscilla said? Even if drunk - empty womb … "I’m a tomb!" sobbing.

  Tomb. That’s the rub. When Coupling ends: not just a woman’s question: "living tomb" – just waiting to die: but a male’s: "What good is my seed now?"

  "Mark, as translated," Lilith muses, happy to inter his own confession: You are nothing!

  For March it had always all been solely about seed. This what the males shared: less calling themselves Brothers as the women did Sisters, but this, an unrecognized message in itself.

  "What good is my seed?" had threaded many a drunk conversation. Right from the beginning: burned, burrowed, stamped into, onto his brain, memory, vision: from that moment in pre-Courting class when the simple biology of "doing it" had been illustrated.

  This what Zav knew drove Mark. The endlessly seething craziness about, "Trying to figure it all out. Make it balance!"

  "Do you realize how much seed we scatter … how much just perishes!"

  Astonishment. Bafflement. Awed.

  (Ha! Ontic Dread!)

  Zav chortles inside: seeing Mark as Archer, lifting up every sperm, arrow to his bow, not shooting but guiding, directing, flying with each sperm ensuring that it hits the bull’s-eye: each wiggling, squiggling ("Squealing?") sperm stabs an egg – Not one got away!

  Lilith felt that she had actually heard Mark’s words: as the underside to his "You are nothing!" is this balancing "Just one?" meaning just one pregnancy – having received millions of seed: Pricilla could never "balance out" – for she was just one out of millions. Mark’s sense of loss was, indeed, dreadful: purely ("With no deviation from the norm!")

  Lilith had imagined, but "Prissy drowned in the lake."

  Zav had imagined, but "The coroner scribbled: Forbar, March – suicide."

  "Why isn’t Priscilla pregnant?" means "Why is Mark nothing?" which means What? … She refuses not to blast and blast and BLAST!

  Zav had offered without being asked: "Mark. Sometimes he gets to me. Hmmph. Many times. Annoying. He’s chasing some Greenies. I know. I know this. Don’t ask me how. I just know."

  Mark his Greenies; Cilla her bottle.

  "But we don’t believe in Original Sin … do we?"

  It was plaintive; anguished; dreaming the loss of their friends, more, their souls: dreaming inside their dreaming ….