I remembered the feel of you, how you felt heavy and slightly sweaty.
I remembered how our eyes met, and our spirits seemed connected.
Now I am weightless. Now I am in the dark.
And you’re not there.
It is a funny thing to have once been so connected to the earth, to be rooted there.
The life left my body, that rooted body, so easily, and so gracefully.
I left you and I floated away.
I should feel something I said to myself. ‘I don’t I answered.
As I rose into the air I could see within the depths of a great forest.
Every action in that forest so precise, so vital.
Sex, life, death, rebirth.
I passed over a city.
Every building was as if the roof was removed.
I could see the lives within, patterns repeating.
Sex, life, death, rebirth.
I am pulled upwards suddenly.
Being as, I supposed, the allotted time to look around was over.
Ahead of me is a great cosmic sea.
That’s a tad cliché isn’t it? Yet, there it is.
Expanding in and out, like it breathes. Breathes life and death.
There are naked iridescent beings in the waves, capering about.
Sometimes joining together, then splitting apart again.
Some disappear, and new ones arrive.
But you’re not there.
It’s time to go now, the goddess is here.

My ancestors are here too.
And there are others. Great winged creatures.
They are taking me somewhere, and I am grateful to go.
But I wonder, will you be there? Continue reading “You’re Not There. by Lotus Kozak”