Always in Love

stream of consciousness

It’s sun-up. Somewhere, on the ever-distant skyline, the ever-young Eos plaits purple, scarlet and saffron ribbons into the golden manes of Hyperion’s horses, and fiery sparkles splash from beneath the hoofs, and the charioteer of the world begins his flight--Luminophore, Donens-Lux, Life-Giver of hyperboreans--like you, My Sun, Light of My Life, who gives it to me. The ribbons in the manes fade, but you still sleep dreaming about an enigmatic kaleidoscope of your night dreams, and I feel jealous to them, for the dreams steal the precious minutes of your attention to me, for you won’t say whether you dream about me or not, no, you’ll only give a misty smile, teasing. Meanwhile the Rays-Bearer laughs spreading reflections of sunrays. The golden foam of light covers us, and a crazy little pack of sun smiles frisks over your moon-skinned body, heady-fragrant, beloved. You are my wondrous man. You are heath-honey, and you know of this, when somebody enjoys your intoxication. Oh yes, you are sweet, intoxicating honey, intoxicated yourself therefore you get intoxicated by yourself hundredfold more--melting, enveloping, going to my head so much that I can’t see anything. I drown, choke and begin to breathe again--with you--it’s so difficult to tell about, and you feel victoriously certain that I can’t be still and calm beside you. I’m swimming. But you are swimming too. Don’t you know how this is visible? You feel this, which is concordant to my withdrawal--or vice versa--no matter--talking of you, of us, I use too often the words “drunk”, “intoxicating”, “honey”, because all this is so in fact, just my own intoxication has nothing to do with drinks and it never ends. But my Amber-Like Honey gets sober quickly. When far from me. And he hardens. Because he forgets? If not, then why? Even if, awkwardly clumsy, I make you, My Joy angry, and you fall asleep, withdrawing and turning back to me, anyway, later, in your sleep, you burry your face in my neck or shoulder, and then, awaking, you don’t recoil, but you look at me, as I am still, and you smile softly, and I thaw as usual sinking into your tenderness. My each excited cell gravitates to you, and I drown in the warm waves of ambergris and musk. Blind, hearing the whisper: “don’t be greedy!” I get greedy yet more. I say the tacit pray: “forgive my not breathing without you and my not living without you!” Will you forgive me? You’ll forgive. At least, while we are gasping in the fierily-thrilling languor, in the mutually-charmed delight. Crazy in the you-and-me-intoxication, insatiable in the me-and-you-absorption, happy like blazes, stuck in each other like delighted moths in hardening drops of the treacherous amber.  The moths knew too that they mustn’t, and they knew of the Cost, but they could not and did not want to resist to Temptation of Beauty. To sink or swim! I wonder what do they dream about now, they who have become a part of Beauty, pieces of the Sun? You know, after the reflections of sunrays die, they turn into ambers--or black ambers, if they used to be sad--the ever-warm, sleepy, honey-coloured ambers, the splashes of the sunshine smiles that have gone out.  But each of yours, My Sun, will live forever in me.

Author's Note

the essay is a part of my notes in my book The Sunless Parlour “…in a sunless parlour where an old clock ticked in the shadows and a cat slept by the empty grate.” (Evelyn Waugh, Brideshead Revisited)

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[Lara Biyuts]

to everyone who feels interested in paganism, here is our yahoo group
http://groups.yahoo.com/group/ekklesia_antinoou/
another interesting source
https://aediculaantinoi.wordpress.com/