It was imperative that I leave my secret riverside glen at that moment. It always feels that way: like a strong suggestion to move my physical body immediately for My greater good. Wondering about it only disrupts the perfect timing.
He was probably from South America or South Europe. He had a man bun. I was a radiant vessel.
I saw him before he saw me. I saw the fire in his firm stride. There would be fire in his eyes. He was walking downriver, and I was going up, towards the lodge. I know the dance moves.
I warmly meet his gaze; a soft, quick smile, then my eyes quickly flutter down. His gaze follows mine down my body. My hips swing easily. It’s been no longer than 2 seconds since our eyes first met. We both move at a healthy pace, drawn towards each other because we’re going different directions.
Three seconds before our paths cross, I lift my gaze to meet His again. This time, my eyes are a warm invitation: bold, steady, and playful. These microexpressions tell him a story, and idle fuckery turns into consuming lust almost immediately.
I let his penetrating gaze sink into mine, opening to receive its fire. We are bound in this moment, in carnal togetherness, exactly 6 feet apart.
Three perfect seconds. A moment on the knife’s edge, and then we passed each other. We each saw it for what it was and continued on towards our homes without a flicker of hesitation. My last impression of him was joy and triumph.
This has happened often in the past: these brief, potent, and fantastical relationships of the eyes, but it’s more special during lockdown. We crave communion now.
It’s just a matter of finding the right dance partner at the right time. The Divine wants only to couple with Itself all the time, in all ways. This is a joyous, harmless way of appeasing my God. Isn’t it?
Geez. If I wasn’t so pretty and soulful, I’d be a pervert.
You can communicate volumes through your eyes: everybody knows that. These are the volumes that i want to read, over and over. They’re the soul’s dirty secrets, written in a language that i’m determined to decipher.
If the soul is the layer of us which has eyes to see, the perspective of this particular soul is that we are all contributing to God’s omniscience. We’re gathering information about humanity (and therefore God) through our eyes and experiences, and then we get to take that information inwards and let our disturbed little minds play with it. And those dark twistings are God, too.
I love men because it’s usually about sex. That’s the story i want to read. That eternal balancing act of male and female.
I love seeing a person as naked as they can possibly be, with nothing impeding the brilliant Truth within. The fewer the barriers, the more completely the feminine and masculine can merge into One. When i look into a person’s dark pupils, I’m looking into the inner chambers of their brain; where Shiva awaits Shakti.
Past the boundaries of clothing and skin and bodies, past the labels and society’s conditioning; and even deeper, I see past time and pain to the eternal bliss that burbles inevitably to the surface when encapsulated in unspoken desire. When I see it, the Divine in me calls Itself out, bliss to bliss.
Good eye contact is crucial. It completes the circuit of energy and then God can flow through our third eyes, too. Carnal knowledge.
I told the Mormon about my obsession with what I call the Dark Look. I wonder if he thinks I’m crazy. The Darkness is just a description of the quality of the pupils of a person’s eyes when they’re thinking about you in a sexual way. It’s as dark and open as space itself, but shimmering thickly with entanglement. Like a black latex forest.
The quality improves and becomes much more intoxicating over time, as desire simmers in the low, concealed parts of the brain. The blackness gets richer somehow, as if grooves of repeated need create a plush texture in the neurons that hold the fantasy of our togetherness. I want to sink into those soft grooves.