Summer in Winter

A daggered demeanor demands deafening discretion, dearly dwindling ego’s nubility exposing tepidly-torturous tragedies to tempos truth-tempered to joyful terminus.

I am surrounded by the calid colors of the Romanian flag, dungeon dancing along cobblestone runways under the great cloudfreckled larimarine firmament through which somber sunlight seals vermillion rooftops with divine rays of aureate providence.

The heart of Transilvania is alive with flesh-clad souls sharing sly sidewalk stares, dodging the eternity in each other’s eyes with hastily-muttered blessings, confessions of clandestine goodwill piercing through the nebulous Doina of star-starved spirits secured to sangre-sombered soil.

Mobeen mentalities manifest mechanically, masterfully manufactured by matter made magic.

I pay 10 Lei for eminent Eminescu’s enchantments, thank the cashtender trivially, and the right side of my neck quivers callously as I am made aware by loyal physiology to the protective retorts that have begun to form reflexively, a jagged judicatory disjunction petty jerk-jesting and juxtaposed to joys jostled from a joven’s journey of justice through jeer-jangled jungles.

Protective parry declines ravenous riposte as I am forthwith informed, like breaking bulletins in Bikini Bottom, of an adoration that perpetually pours like honeyed wine down the ancestrally-attenuated and ever-expansive fibril that connects me to the all-time central point of creation, prime coordinate zero, infinity’s limit, Creator consciousness.

Instead taking leave from troubled topics and tacit turbulence, I thread my vagabond vessel through the froid-meagered streets of Cluj-Napoca, barren of all but the most intrepid calators.

As sun turns to shade and time ticks tepidly towards dark horizons, I coalesce just in time to witness a brightheart strigoi send ripples of delight through souls in stratified degrees of known and unknown. It is a miracle that we live another day, for the cosmic scales truly do not favor ape-kind. We lack any biological resilience to the vastness of reality, and find ourselves desperately dependent on dearest Gaia. Lumea. Tera. Mundus. Earth, planet the third, manifestation portal for a great advance into infinity’s arms.

Could it be that deities take form for mirth’s sake, merely to chuckle and cheer for this wounded realm? Or seek they lessons dark? The higher heavens would never permit the kind of treatment we visit upon each other down here in midheaven, purgatory. And yet, it is precisely these lessons that allow us to oscillate, from shadow to light, from pain to pleasure, transforming wound into wonder.

Mind shift, thoughtscatter

Smilesong, heartshatter

If I spread my enchiridionic errata on the table for all to see, like a winning poker hand, would you double down against me?

Fates forsaken,

Duty shaken

Sound the heavenly alarm

Love lathered

Crowds gathered

Mankind shall no longer harm

…

I step into the blistering cold of the Romanian winter wearing few layers and exposed digits. The furnace inside my burning like a mighty conduit, the sun taking fleshly form once more. The warmth of Self and the cold of Realm meet with a differential, an unequal exchange, and I pay the remaining balance of body temperature with my bravado.

“ I burn as hot as a star” I whisper to myself, and the flame is kindled just in time to share my warmth with the blessed bodies that rest eternal on this fine Sunday.

Central cemetery, Cluj-Napoca.

The heartsong vampiresa and her heartbonds are with me, and as the flow of fated photos draws us to a nearby tavern, I am once more met with disparate resonance. A tear in the fabric of reality. The lilting winds of fate.

-

It is winter, but the sun inside me blazes on with infinite summer every time I think of You.