CHAPTER 24
Blast! Just that. "BLAST!" All around her. More, she was Blast! Chuckling. Finding a wicked glee in it. A huge sigh of relief. Catching herself observing herself wiping her brow, watching the flung sweat land in droplets like showering bombs: Blast! Blast! "Blast!" … All her thoughts. All her feelings. All her images, words – the grinding of the cogs in her brain: laughing: machining out Blast!s … Nothing in it about Moroni’s Toot or anything Mormon or for that matter anything which she realizes she remembers as "anything" … for it is all original time and space: indeed, indeed, inside her mind, her hands tapping each other, almost slapping, her feet ready to move, not knowing where, not slipping into any known vector, just all this as Blast! … the dream: March is dead! or was it a dream? Is Zav dead? … Blast! and where are these Ancient Ones but blasted into oblivion! She comically draws her head and it is a block of granite in one frame, a thousand shards in smithereens in the next … all this, What do I feel? Not even an answer, just her step, said with her whole being, I feel great!
Great: Greatness. These were words she could use; did; not to others, just to herself. What was it all but Great? "Great-Mom," that’s how the grandkids called her, just from the start: was it their perception of size? Or …?
Lil knew that, like her grandchildren, many more had begun to see, see the details: the peering – not just psychic, not just spiritual, more: in the actual fact of somatic details, as if in that dream: that all were not Mel, all not alike, but as with Prissy and Lillian, March and Xer: the somatic differences, yet this all slipping into the every-day on slow-leak, just statements here and there; and so her kids: prophetic? – "out of the mouth of babes" – what parent hasn’t said that even if not knowing its lineage?
For the four had become Golden. As at Twenty so back at Fifty, it had just happened. Hair from brown to golden, nothing else changing. But now? … It had been her first grandchild, babe in the crib, reaching up and touching what no one said but Lil knew, glancing at Zav: it was Xer’s smile, her touching the silver streak … GREAT! All about has become greater, not just fuller, but denser, thicker, yet ever more transparent, translucent: personal - she knows that it is from their Communing: but yet even another step beyond: beyond Coupling, beyond Embrace, into ….? yet, still: with Zav or Xer … March?
("Cilla!," waving her over.)
Great. How many years beyond? Communing: ten. Fifteen? Five giving her grandkids: a passel. But that was just on the surface. Them blasting out from those who had blasted out from inside her! That was just like her parents. The imagery tickles.
Great. Yet, not friends like her folks. Not friends like Mark and Priscilla. Not like that. Not friends at all, is how she speaks with her eyes as Zav enters the room: any room. What?
"Great!" – it defines them: true … but.
But it isn’t him. Curious. Not at this Moment. This is what the Blasting has uncovered. That "GREAT!" with all capitals and high enthusiasm is her flesh torching into a solitary blaze, rendered: "Cilla!"
Lilith knows Cilla as blasting cap – "Enough with this blasting stuff!" chiding herself. But it is so incredible! "No, you are incredible!" out loud, to herself, but willing to say it, state it, fling it out onto wings in front of anyone. Where is Cilla?
"I never got Big." Cilla knew that Lil would have said it; she just wanted to beat Lan to the punch.
Lilith doesn’t turn towards her, but her back says it; that’s all Prissy needed to read: Lan’s back towards her! – ("Fucking dream!")
Sisters talk: "That’s the rub. I’m not your Sister." No big huffy-puffy deal made about it. No response whimpering: "Oh, yes you are!" and, not a teary embrace; none of that crap.
"Did you ever really want to be my Sister?"
Now, the pregnant moment: Do you?
("That’s the rub!")
Whatever The Embrace/The Communiol Council of Twelve had been – "Is?" – Lilith knows that it was no more. Not for her. And that’s it: the rub as she’s become overly fond of saying.
"You know what I mean, don’t you?" to Cilla.
"Do I?"
"Ah, ever the cutesy Lacy Lily, aren’t you?"
Cilla hated that; hates that she hadn’t been Prissy.
("Lilith is Prissy." March hated the tottering metaphysics of it; countered,. "Xer, that blossom’s got to you." Very, very upset and off his point.)
"Look, they were always right about only one thing," and her finger pops up, not the Screw-You finger, but her slightly wobbling pinky, "one thing – all space and time does change."
An eyebrow lifted in a motion Cilla was not used to, found uncomforting; it betrayed: Clear as mud! … Cilla sighs: too many sighs this mother-of-sighs sighs within: "I’m glad March got it the way he did. Good girl!"
Was Cilla really going to be ready for this? This Blast!?
"Babe, I’m the only hot cock you’ll ever need!"
Said that: fire dripping over her lips, strings of streamy, sizzling fire: lava mouth, but of hollowing desire, a volcano of desire: yes, Lilith flushes with that image, as it comes, as it slowly boils and then Blast! into eruption: I’m a volcano!
("Switcheroo!")
I was never fully pregnant. Coming to her lips, not unwelcomed, just rudely unannounced: combing her hair, a hundred strokes or more on the days she remembers to do so … long mirror, half-naked, liking to look at herself, not so much in self-infatuation as with a basic comfortableness with her unclothed self: so the sentence was heard, heard first before spoken, realizing that it was herself speaking: like a road-sign all of a suddenly popping up and causing you to question – What? and then questioning with other questions: Where? Why? When?
Cilla knew that Lil had been Big, even when not carrying. She just knew that. You could see it in the kids: almost brothers and sisters, so close; yet, she had no doubt that they were all Ascends and hers but first or nears. But they never talked about it, back then. Not really a space or a thing between them. But now it is all clear.
("Whenever we get near that, you start drinking." Cilla stood up and walked over to the wet bar.)
"Zav’s a real pip when pregnant."
Just like that – including him. Applying the word as if a verb. One which they acted, or acted upon them. Cilla knew from that first time, in the kitchen when she had been into her violet period: limes and vines and things violet which were not supposed to be violet: Lil’s "Violet Period" – it was a joke among the four.
("Camouflage?" an Ancient One queried.)
The first moment of Blast! – back when she had not the word, hardly the image: Lil welcoming him home, handing Zav a violet: verbal monologue, "Us!" … he accepted it as a fundamental fact, truth of the Universe.
"You get the gist of this Embrace, no?"
"It didn’t exist?" A fear-edged question; not an affirmation; certainly, hoping not for a confirmation.
Lil sniffs; jerks her head back a notch and sniffs, once, again: not snorts, just as if testing the wind for scent: not intentional, but telling.
"It exists. No doubt." Council, Communio, Embrace: there was a pain to the confirmation that she could not express; didn’t want to.
"Our lives," pause, a true hesitation, the stepping back from the precipice, but a stepping back with surprise, not having seen, not having anticipated a precipice, yet, once there, realizing that that was all that there was: only the precipice.
"Our lives are as full, as Great, as Big… it’s our world. It’s our faith. It’s all we have. It’s all we can dream about."
If she had not been there – is here! -- no, the Sisters would not have done so at the moment; they would have scurried back, heads bent, pressing their hands over their ears, calling down for a blindness of eye!
:she - it could come no way but this way. How to say that it had come her way because of Zav? But, that’s not for now. Big Zav is not for now. ("Bullshit!") Cilla is for now. Prissy and Lan and Luscious Lil and Lacy Lily …. It is with such a bedazzling array: an adornment of her
body which unfailing seduces her Sister - would any Sister! – and unbounds envy and admiration and the heated press of one female to another: so unshy about being the other -- "Oh!" true emotion, solid, "Oh! Let me try that on!"
Lil knows what she’s doing. Try Zav on! she wants to say; did utter silently to herself: but knowing how readily – how stupidly! ("Patience!" the Deacon so trained.) – Cilla would catch the words and turn them back to Courting words, to Tag words: so she doesn’t … preparing by remembering their Tag: one and only: as it was to her, linked to both, kissing both, her twin mouths kissing: Mark she raising to his screaming delights, deep groans, working his cock with expert fingertips and liquid lips, all up and down transforming him into liquid fire, becoming his pulse, her eyes squeezing his balls, gobbling the sight of himself which he has ever refused to see, so is she opening him as Zav is delighting in the kiss of her southern mouth, plunging and plundering and playing her about, heaving her sweet buttocks up and over his heart, a heart beating its pulse through his cock, beating into her and it is she who becomes their communing, her presence of flesh and desire which is their touch each of the other, Zav coming with all his essence into her and so entering Mark, Mark jolting and bolting, shooting himself electric through her mouth, into her belly, riding astral waves of shock into Zav, streaming up his cock, cocking his eyes with pleasures: images, imaginings, wakeful dreams of union and communion; so it is she, the forever She, who is now the water they play in together, splash about; it is Her who becomes them, the commonness of their shared desire for eternal potency; she not reservoir as she is Deep Well … she laid down that time with them each at her breasts, knowing Cilla’s patient desire: reading her patience as they had been taught, trained, observing her observing them, not deviating from protocol … what was she imagining?
:imagining – Lilith imagines Cilla: her as kissing their men: coupled with all maleness … she hadn’t talked, Lil knew it hadn’t been the same: "But so shall it be!" … all pearlescent sheen: a body which shimmies: flows liquid with the beauty of lines evoked by pearls and other precious stones: ringed fingers, languishing earrings, slithering necklaces and wristlets … Water! is how Lilith is imaging herself: as water athirst with the mystery within: beckoning the fisherwoman with the beauty of necklaced trees, the ruffling playfulness of the ebbing waves, the teasing glints of sunlight and the dervish frolic of birds and bugs: sounds and hums and the dreaminess of simple, robustly naive beauty … and Cilla does come; does set down by the lake’s edge; does unfold herself to become part of the landscape, of this cameo of Nature … is just there and in the there of a moment of unknowing, so is she there: the Lady of the Lake … Priscilla lays back, opens her arms, lets fall away her thighs, yields her tongue to bird flight, her eyes free into darkness, her mind, her soul, her every self: the thirst flows around her, laces over her, beside her, wets her, soaks, drenches, submerges … drowns: "Prissy drowned in the lake!"
Intimates: A Journey Towards Sacred Sexuality Page 33
