Tuesday, November 13, 2012

Yama, you were right about everything.



Under the eyes of the Thangka demon I undress.  It's clear that I am doing what the monk on the meditation guide cd said not to:  I'm trying to be a "more solid entity."

My lover tells me that when he looks in the mirror, he thinks he isn't beautiful.  I tell him that I usually think, "what's the use of all this beauty if we die?"  So, I take tons of pictures: naked and dressed, draped in beautiful cloth, carrying the cat, holding flowers, burning sage, my arms covered in brass bangles, kissing lovers, laughing by the sea and under the pier, under a redwood, holding a beer up to a bovine skull in a southwestern roadside motel, licking a mirror, losing my grip on the grasshopper, eyes on the mantis, my face childlike in real wonder.  I just want someone to know how it all went down.

Under the eyes of the Thangka demon I undress.  He keeps watching me as I fuck my boyfriend. Cat Power sings, "Come along,  Fool."  At least I remembered to turn the pictures of my grandmother face down.

I can't cry in front of my boyfriend.  It just doesn't come out because I am afraid he will think I am crazy.  I remember my sister once crawling on her hands and knees by a river at night telling me it was so sad, so sad that we had nowhere to go and be animals.  Nowhere to go when we needed to scream.  I told her when it was my time to go, to lay me down face to face with the dead stag and cover me in leaves and then let me be.  She said she couldn't because it was illegal to die like an animal.

The demon watches me braid my hair.  What's the use of all this beauty?  What's the sense of the striving, the sex, the candles, the pomegranates over ripe and opening on the wooden table, spitting out their rubies and garnets, telling everything?

I've always loved my clavicles and the brown with a hint of purple, no not pink, more like purple color of my nipples when I'm hungry.  The Thangka demon watches me dress and I hide the silver Eastern Orthodox cross under my shirt with the skull and crossbones under Jesus' feet.  The nuns said it meant he conquered death.  They said to keep it hidden, my secret, just for me.  They kissed it goodbye before they sold it to me.


2 comments:

Timun said...

Davka! Thy gifts, abundant and shared, as rubies cast from thy fingertips. Mystic; sensual; wise.

D. S. said...

So beautiful - makes me cry. Aum namo näräyana beautiful one -