Love Letters, con't.

Dear Lover,
Somehow the Us has become an ocean...where once there was only you and I; momentary glances from distant sides of neighboring counties, now has opened Infinity. Have we really invited, allowed this presence to take form through us?!! It reminds me of when I studied the Tibetan Book a bit, where the only way to transcend the karmic wheel through death was to look directly into the brightest possible source at the time where everything you knew to be real outside had been stripped away. So when, in these moments I become frozen in fear near you, and my words come out inside over and quaking, I know it is not a lack of confidence or ability, but my willingness to stand at the edge and feel my way into a possibility of convergence upon a single point.
The effects of this undertaking are as Mr Stephen Hawkings did write, with squiggled diagramming and rippling waves of undulating energy maneuvering spatially. So I will often focus on the face you make when your thoughts consume you, your laughter from another room, or those sometimes all too rare moments when I find the skin on my neck flooded with the touch of your hand. I mix this with daily tasks and new skills, friends and parenting. Do I hallucinate or discover at the suspended correlations between Our tempered intensity and reward?
I have faith in the crescendo-ing of trust, in me, in you. Mostly. Gravitational singularity and extensive training become pertinent.
To add the subtly shaken whipped topping of this phenomenon, we as individuals have complete power to chose in any second  the level of exposure to this "god in the living room experience." I stay today because this site of learning speaks an inter dimensional dialect and the lines between our respective graphs make music.
In joyfear and....,

Me

Today

With midnight creeping towards, I wat h for a moment, fantasies of us, filled and exhausted by the hot day's working. We move together into a somehow better than alone sleep cradle. They slide idly through the roll; a slow moving double scroll over-lit from behind. I think again about Plato's "Allegory of the Cave," as an earmark that refreshes the course of a path into the sun. I feel deepening roots, non-assumption, that curve around our conversation with simple exercise.
There continues a settling, my innards slow back into normal operating procedure, and five years of experimental chaos melt. Numbers and states become offerings, the most fulfilling come, just me and lightening, into the sweet field Desire has abandoned.
Somehow, I have the patience to listen, sifting, until the pertinent information contains shape. nOw I sit, wriggling inside the beyond pressure of hallucinogenic fear.  More than half of the day's chores have been entertained, my chest resumes breath work, and I am no longer the creator of the seasons, trees, etc. Mostly. This time I swallow sugary pellets with remedies that sift guilt from me like leaves of tea through hot water. I can see a path opening. Excited, I think it is possible to hold on with a grip that might become a moment's satisfaction.



http://www.historyguide.org/intellect/allegory.html