CHAPTER K
Xer returned from March Forbar’s funeral. Came home: his apartment: sat down. There was just too many things happening this day; he had to sit down. Had watched the crowds: students, family, many townsfolk, others from the Curious; watched and realized that none had the answer. Of all, most not the priest. "Dies irae …" in the strange incomprehensible tongue of Catholic priests. Xer didn’t need to read the translation, the sound was horrendous enough.
The Smithys. Many. Noticeable by their white dresses. Almost angrily contrasted to the Cat’s black: all black – shoes, socks, hats … "Undies? Do we, Pater?" … he knew for certain that the priest wore ugly undies.
The Smithys. And "her" too.
But no one knew: Who is Lacy Lily?
The Box was cinders. Where would she emerge? Almost, he almost had the self-analytical: Why am I sure she will come back?
As with this day, she seemed inevitable: as inevitable as Death. Sin and Death.
"Is it a sin to them?" This thought jumped on him, came from out of nowhere and simply plastered itself ontop his shoulders; instinctively he flinched.
Worming its way in, it tunnels to the Light: "Of course not!"
Xer now understands, "We sin so they have grace." So sudden and so solidly logical, so smoothly linked that it is not shock as much as the amazement of first discovery: like honey inside the honeycomb.
He cannot face what only his soul fears from this revelation: He died so they could be born.
Should she have known? Or, had she known even before she did know? "Ascension. That’s what we want. All the Cats want is mortal sin!" and she laughs; her Sisters laughed; all the walls of Smith rocked and thundered; the bricks quivered and the sideways quaked.
Xer waits. She has to appear, somewhere. He’s certain in his gut if not lucid in his mind. The theological subtleties, the spiritual distinctions, these never were his; don’t have to be.
Waiting. A wait like a steady breeze, then, Gush! In fly four guys, short of breath, excited, heady: "Lily’s back!" without even words; glasses dropped, steins rapidly emptied, shots thrown back, snorts of blossom all around … in some place, down another street, around the next corner, up a stair-case: if there had been a navigator, someone with geographical skills, or just anyone with a penchant for details, they would have known that they were on Smith’s campus: ("Impossible!")
"JUST ONE LOOK!" already shaking the rafters; not only her summons, but their response … she as precious as ever, possibly more so, for there was a glow to her, not just a sheen nor a glitter but a glow: goldish, whitish, violet – it all depended upon whom you’d ask, but no one was surveying … upon her divan, the spread of her legs, the kiss of her southern lips, and then! Then! – was it Heaven come to Earth? Or, a visitation by Angels? Few Cats cared to frighten themselves by considering Demons and Incubi and Succubi and Fallen Angels … for there were now ten Lilies: all in array, all beckoning, and Lo! A trumpet blared. A note so thrilling sounded, not a note but a heart-beat, as if all were one heartbeat, a beat of thumping lust, but a beat so harmonious, so strong, yet pleasant, so comforting as it compelled: they all came up, and as they stepped there were ten more and then ten more and ten more, for as many as came so there was one: Lily: for each: Just One Look! … the passionate odor, the fragrance so sublime it cloaked the dying: for they came, each looked, and the look was piercing: looked at them and pierced their hearts: pierced as if stabbed – indeed, they fell onto their Lily: were consumed by her beauty, her pleasure, the kiss of her lips … stabbed, piked, speared, impaled, the upward shiv: every action of every stripe, each his own, falling as if upon his own sword: dying in the rapture of erotic ecstasy!
As he expired, Xer saw what he knew he had known: Lillian. Lillian is Lacy Lily
The girls – for girls they still were: Virgins most – even now, for it was known to these: these who had been Selected, that intimacy with a Cat was not intimacy at all, but its opposite: the final offering of one’s self: ultimate humility.
In this humbling spirit Lily moves to her Cat; expertly and swiftly severs what is sacramentum: his cock, balls and all: removing from his body that which is symbol, sign and reality of what she is to offer her Eternal Husband: offer him All – offered through offering him Nothing: "Cats are nothing." A Temple First Truth.
………………………………
Within The Embrace this ancient tale throbs once again. "Why did they have to re-live this? We could just as easily have told them."
"Better to ask, why have we had to be revived like this? … Who are they, really, truly?"
Four-Square: re-lived, reviving what is, what was, what will always be present as The Embrace. That there is always, will always, was always: Ascensions – not mechanically, not by a divined necessity, just as what is: a Spiraling: never up, never down, always up, always down: this which defines Presence, the spiraling of "What is, is not!"
This image, this thought, this which is the Presence and so the Other, the Not-Presence: that which is Courting and Coupling/Communing and Embracing: In and Out: diastole and systole: at once living, at once dead: this image once thought once manifested is the manifestation, itself – at this Moment: The Embrace Ascended: Ultimately … Zav and Lilith are born now and forever: intimates.
(Mark: "1, 2, 3, 4 … you, me, she, we: What?!")
Intimates: A Journey Towards Sacred Sexuality Page 38