PERENNIAL TROUBADOUR
Once, there was oneness. A divine union. A flock of mourning doves flying towards the equator. In search of warmth and a fruitful resurrection of spring. Togetherness on a path, escaping, for a time, an imminent death. This is my love. Existing in a formless bandwidth that connects with a palpable fiending for life and then to you. We are lustful in the waiting line to the heavens and to planet Earth. We are infinite in our power and in an echoing, joyous laughter. Destined to create and doomed to fade away. An eternal sense of youth finds us on a winding, dust filled road.
When I have taken my leave before, I have been laid to rest – departing the realms of lovers and leaving mere crumbs of a Venusian ruled body or scattered flower petals from my branches. Forever present and haunting and meant to be followed into a new world. Love reborn into a new housing and into a new destiny.
Once, I flew over the mountains. Seeing the struggle of the hikers below me, I wished with all my might that I could give them wings like my own. But it was only a dream. I awoke planted. Struggling to uproot myself, but I was held tightly by soil’s lifeblood and by my own growth. I know in this moment that as summer dies, so shall I. And so, I hold onto every drop of vitality, before I breathe a breath that carries the message: “See you soon.”
I remember being rooted. This feeling runs deeper than this human life. Petals fall to the ground as a sign of present angels. Now, I am casting Chamelacium flowers in resin. Enduring wealth and preserving it. Remembering when I was once woody and bloomed an iridescent white. When I faced the elements with nowhere to run. When I was not flesh but was still matter. When I had no beating heart but was still blooming. An anise magnolia tree growing tall and luscious. Heaven scented and raining abundance in full sun.
The feeling of life closing chapters lives inside me still. Like nerves on edge or the final leaves of autumn. My lives have been a defiant calling and a yearning for more time. And so, I persist. I have faded into the darkness in many forms. My bark has turned black to mark myself as once was. No longer current, no longer watching. I send all that I have made in the lightness back into the dark. I am repeating forever. In the light, I am filled with fluid and bursting at my seams. In the dark, I am dried and easily snapped into pieces. I am absorbing and then I am absorbed.
Once, I incarnated with eyes to see. I saw the hollyhock husks take their final bow. The garlic bulbs in braids ward off ghosts. Roots of all kinds reviving the spirit. The moments right before a sapling breaks free. And I saw heaven as medicine. Gold, glistening flowers in cauldrons. Potions in ornate chalices. Divine oils gliding over one’s skin. Perfect love and perfect trust.
I remember all the times where my love grew towards the sun. Sprouting, vining, and covering acres of ground. All the times when I resonated with velvet petals – when I blossomed, stood tall and then wilted. When I sang without vocal cords, when I wrote verse for every era without ink or parchment. I remember knowing that stars fall in agony upon a world that ceases to sing.
Once, I sang my verse in high courts. I compared my perfect love to roses and sang of its effervescent eternity. I inhaled the gardens of their bodies, and I drew parallels to heaven, to the beginning of everything. I was then only rooted by my love and a timeline of divine consonance. I remember flowers in vases, trees in courtyards, and petals on stone floors. I remember that I hummed the makings of celestial sonnets as we sweetly faded away.
Once, I was an artist. I was eternal. A perennial. A troubadour. Beckoned by botanical description, by floromancy, by a heartbeat drum. Summoned by the ballads of the Gods. By the footsteps of all creatures. Descending gently and illuminated in my birth like rays of sunshine in your window. Like petals divining the truth of your love as they caress the floor. I was the rolling hills that transform with elements and age. Bearing fruits that were seasoned and ripe, from trees standing proudly for hundreds of years. When they remember feeling full or nourished, they think of me. Once, I was a musician besieged by silence. A synonym of swan. Lightness as inspiration, breaking through solid ground. Reincarnating for one last song at the very end of time.
