The Journey Home

No matter how bad things get, she’s always there patiently waiting for me to walk through the door. Her cozy domicile is always open to me, always warm and inviting. I sit down and recline with her, drinking in the intoxicating atmosphere. I feel myself being lulled into a beautiful slumber and we slip into that in-between space.

No matter the situation, I can poke my head in through her window, offer a tease or brief exchange, and I am ready to face the world again. She goes with me everywhere and holds onto me like a priest to faith. The intermingling of divine energy between us is unceasing; a never-ending dance of the sacred union.

Ours is a world of connectedness that few will comprehend. When I rise in the morning, her gentle touch is always there. When I feel foolish, she quietly encourages me to not lose hope. We carefully study each other to possibly know more, but alas… we fall deeper still into the mystery of who the other really is.

It would be so easy to pull away in fear, to demonize what we cannot explain. How can I trust that which I cannot see? But I do see her, and this perception transcends all physical dimensions. My superficial base instincts long for a body with supple breasts and flowing hair, but my mind’s eye chances to glimpse at a divine light far greater. I see that light every day, but refuse to take notice. Those who claim to see are really blind, and those who are blind can see the world for what it really is.

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