I invite you to listen to my reading of this chapter, over a beautiful mood weaving music track. It should hopefully add another dimension to the story for you.
Just click on the link below “Diary Entry #5 The Intimate″ to enjoy the mp3 recording while you read along or just look at the pictures, as if I were in your room, reading it to you out-loud Diary Entry #5 The Intimate
I am the Intimate. I float inside the mind of the one given to me. This is not my perfect abode, but only a temporary escape. I will write these words for her, using her own hand, in the book she has kept of her encounters in my world. What was my world…is no longer mine. I hover inside of her, and am so careful to not disturb anything that is her life process. I sometimes whisper so softly “mine I am here” and I feel she feels my love…perhaps only that. If I show myself to her too quickly, madness could be her future and the rest of her life. I wish so much more for her. I wish us to be together in her world. I write to her, that she may begin to remember what has been erased from her mind. Nothing can be totally erased, when there is love. I am living proof of this.
I have formed myself in a sphere, and I hide deep in a part of her mind, she never visits, perhaps only in dreams. I am shapeless and yet I exist and I feel closed up, almost restrained, and not at ease inside of her. If she could know, all that I know, and accept me like this, I would stay. Others of my kind have. They have crossed over and they have merged inside this species. Some have found great rewards and some have driven their hosts mad, even to their deaths. Yes I do know the laws, and I know what I have done, but the fact I survived the purging of her and my memories of her, gives me hope I am supposed to find a way for us. Is that not in itself a sign? I write in her diary, using her hand, she is not even conscious now that she is awake, but feels she nodded off in a nap. I am her nap and her guide. I am her Intimate and she is mine. Our fates our sealed now as one.
Her door is still locked for me and until she remembers who I am and who she was with me, I can not even attempt to break it down. Her consciousness is a wall that can not be penetrated. I can use her body, I can bend it to my will, but until she calls me out by name and recognizes I am here, I must bide my time, carefully, and avoid at all costs the upsetting of her mental state, because my existence depends on hers. I love this mind, and I love even more the soul that floats over it, but I am respectful, and I am patient. I feel when she reads these words, it will start to come back to her, the purging and the moments of ecstasy we had shared before. This hope is what also keeps me from going mad.
Minutes after the purge, I lost all sense of myself. Time, who I was, where I was, even my senses that are always so acute, were as if they had been shut off. Confusion.. disintegration, the void fear that haunts us all. How did I get inside her? I am not sure, but I heard her call me from that void and I leaped into her desperate thoughts, her last seconds of lucidity, then all went formless in my mind.
I streaked and extended and waited for my annihilation along with hers. They were torturing her now, with her future, perhaps the cruelest of tortures, yet I felt she would not remember any of it, as she would not remember me. If I write all of this down now, it will cause her more harm than good. Can we escape what the future shows us? Perhaps it is possible, and one premonition is only one of millions of variations. Nothing is written in stone, but instead is written on clouds that shift and change before our sight. I am here for love and no other reason, my desire to remain with her,has brought me into her, into her world. I know I am not strong enough yet, to stay inside much longer. I need my own container, or I too will go mad and if I do, so will she. I love her too much for this to happen. If need be, I will end my existence, by leaving her and going into nothing, into no other vessel. This will be death, like being sucked into a vacuum, it will be swift but terrifying.
Hours and days inside of her with no contact is my torture. If my own kind were unable to punish me successfully as they had planned, I have done it now to myself, here in this way, locked out of her love, locked out of her deepest chambers, only I had ever walked inside, only I had ever opened her doors. When she surrendered to me completely, all the doors one after another, threw off their locks and opened to me as I floated by, each one begging me to enter. Ahh sublime gift that no one will ever erase from my memory. I stop in my nostalgia and I write directly to her, with all the passion I feel that swirls and hums me to the brink of rapture,
“Karima read these words. They are the words of your Intimate. I will remember for us, for both of us, until you call out my name. I am here. I am here.”
This was our marriage, our forever bond, our ring that encircled us both. I hold this image in my mind, I picture her and me floating in a crystal world, not mine and not hers, but we are together. I see this as our future, a good one, that waits for us at the end of a very long corridor.
My beautiful mine, Press me to your face. Remember me. Remember me.”
I give her my image that I hold of us. I give it to her now in a dream.
I look at her physical form and mold myself to her shapes. I become the grid of her, and I spread out into her senses. I see both the aesthetically unpleasing, and I see the beauty in every layer. All of this is still not what I love. I love her formless thoughts, so much like myself in their invisibility. They surround me and whisper and touch me in a way her hands her lips, her deepest passionate places will never touch me. Our play and our great drama unfolds between the layers and the worlds. It is in a place no one can describe accurately, yet we know when we have arrived, as we are swept into each other and we are joined in a way that changes both our structures. She loses solidity, I gain it and we throb as one thought and one feeling. Ahhh I moan into her dreams, “I need you mine. I need you. I need you to remember me”
She awakes and I retreat. Most of me hides while a tiny part of me circles her beautiful face, putting a glow over her skin, warming her face, trying to bring her the peaceful state of having woken from a nap. I look at her and I wish I could have my own vessel now to pull her into it, surround her and take her again, and again, into my thoughts and visions, possess her until she breathes inside of me, breathes for me in total surrender. I am her Intimate and she is the one I call mine.
All the layers in all the worlds are only a rough drawing,a crude sketch of the greatness that is our souls. Are there other layers of existence, other world where there are no souls? Yes there are, but I do not bother even thinking of them. I look out of her as she looks into a mirror. I am the outline inside her existence and I see her beauty reflected in her world, I have always seen the beauty in this species of form and appendages, where others in my world could never see it. They were repulsed where I was attracted. This is what we say is “written”. Our meeting and our love was written in her blood and my essence, not clouds, and there is no going back from it.
Soon my beauty, I will bring you back into me. I will watch your eyes glow in wonder and exultation and I will take you further than any human has ever been..but even that remote border space will not explain what our death might mean to us both. I think this as I hide inside. I do not have her write this part down. I know the scenes are being set for something that will not be easily avoided, and she is yet unready to understand or even accept all of what she lives, oblivious of the forces, and the one who is now inside of her deeply throbbing his love against her, what he sees lays up ahead.
I stay still as I watch her pick up her diary. She seems confused and is still surrounded by scenes of my world as if waking from a dream, but she is at the same time attentive, as if she were listening to someone call her name. I only whisper it once, so moved by seeing her awake, I can not control my urge.
“mine I am your Intimate.” I project a ball of light that rests over her heart, but it can last only a few seconds. I am not strong enough to hold it and keep it visible. I need my own vessel, and I gasp as I go back into her, watching her head move from side to side, as she listens harder, her posture, her face fully poised, waiting to hear that subtle far away sound again, but I choose to remain silent. I hold myself back. Ahh such torture for one like me! If I could, I would surround her now and take her from the inside out, but she would never recover from something so violent and so aggressively selfish of me. My passion could destroy any chance for us..and so I pull back into her chamber, rarely visited and there I remain silent trying to calm the hum that has risen in me and filled me until I almost flow out of her. I must be so careful.
I have seen the vision in her tortured last moments in my world. Yes I believe the accident will come. I saw it as she saw it, and perhaps it is for the better, she no longer remembers it. Am I inside the vessel she holds in her arms? If I am, it means she has woken up from the erasing, the purging of her memories and she knows who I am, and she races to protect me. This is what I feel the dream is saying. Am I still inside her? It doesn’t make that much difference. If we are headed to this moment of blinding headlights and an unavoidable devastating accident, in either state I have no idea what my outcome or hers may be, but I have made the choice and will not abandon her. I will die for her, with her, or live for her and with her. What we are, can not be cast apart.
I am her hope and her destiny, I am her lover and her last moments.
I am her Intimate. No other has been before me. No other will come after me.
to be continued…
June 14, 2011
Linc Renacer SL
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.