Song of Spring

I gave it all to you.
My love.
My heart.
My soul.
My art.

You gave it all to me.
Your love.
Your heart.
Your soul.
Your art.

Then the ground was taken from my feet. Left standing alone, naked and afraid. In all of my devilish ways.

You inspired me to be a better human. A kinder more compassionate soul.

Connected to spirit.
To source.
To god.

Taught me to feed the holy and to feed life. I forget these things more and more the longer you are away. I feel myself battling the devil within. I fear that I will lose this war and become something awful and terrifying. No longer a source of good in the world but a broken and vile man. Filled with hatred, shame and anger. Filled with envy for those whose loves continued. Bitter and jaded with life. A shell. A horrible mollusk of a man with nothing inside but void.

I have been praying. And chanting. And offering up my music to the ears of the holy. Digging my hands into the mud and rinsing them in the waters. Working with crystals, gems, earth and stone. With hammer and chisel. With flesh and bone. Making circles and burying this tantric edenite. Honoring the tree. Its bark. Its strength. Its roots. Its leaves. Holding strong in the snow. Speaking with the bald eagles that nest up the mountain. 18 total this year by my count. Magnificent birds. Magnificent god. Do you hear me. Do you feel me. Do you see my actions. Don't let this grief swallow me. Please.

The spring has risen. But my heart has not. The sun baking my flesh and the blossoms popping from shadow. My prayers feel unheard. Perhaps unwanted. Unwanted like my touch upon her skin when we meet now. She feels not the same. She is not the same. She has grown. She has bloomed. Her fruit comes next.

There is something new. We are singing now. Making song together. Offering this up to the holy. Offering this up for our own healing. I make love to her now through song. It is not the same but it will do for now. We can meet this way with no pain or fear of the past. No expectation of the future. Just joyous in song. Our throats stretched and hands clenched around these wooden branches. Tuning into her. Following her with my voice like I used to trace my hands down her spine.

I feel you, love.
I am here with you, love.
I love you, my love.