The Eye of Man

What if I tell the truth?

Her nude figure brushing ferns as she turns towards her lover. Rivers always rivers, indeed. Yet we have already risen beyond those rushing waters which in a significant way, does not negate the longing to swim.

The truth is that I long to be consumed; what other energy could withstand my own ravenous fire? Perhaps if two die in ecstasy, the mandate of the One will leave no stone unturned.

A small snake the size of my hand slipped through the grass at my feet. The desire to touch it led me to try. Beck says, “Don't mom. He doesn't want that.” I pull my hand back and think about Medusa's voice. A short distance further up the path, another snake. It disappears into waning goldenrod and chicory.

Her voice whispers from an ancient locus into modern injustice.
Her snakes, undaunted and unafraid.
Her power, preventing the eye of man from defining her.

What does Medusa do when she desires to merge with a man? She sees with her heart, not her eyes. Who loves her must embrace the snakes if they embrace her at all.

Come, witness her unvarnished, unfaltering potential to heal and to take what is hers.