Notes - (final) Dead 8

        Dusk. You are waiting for Carol at Hallmark at the VOA Center near Cox and Tylersville. You have just read through Chapter Eight and have come to the conclusion that “reoccurrence” would be a good theme word. I, however, do not agree and feel “punctuality” would better fit the bill. - Amorella

         2028 hours. This selection, Dead 8, has moved in an odd direction.

         And, it will do, boy. Add and post. Relax, tomorrow to Kim and Paul’s. – Amorella

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The Dead 8 ©2013, rho, (final) for GMG.One

         Trees and shrubs line both sides of the river not so much deep as wide while at the same time not so much wide as deep. This as I Merlyn think. The river depends on the angle of my view and the width of my mind. The narrower the view is the deeper the water. When my heart feels Vivian within; another heartansoulanmind relaxing peacefully asleep in my heart, then the deeper I can sink into her own. There is a magnetic-like spiritual energy that draws into us. The mind becomes one eye and the heart the other. As two eyes add the depth of perception the mind eye and the heart eye also adds a perception, a reality from what is called human love is but a reflection of the unseen reality.

         This reality is dressed in an intuitive perception, a begotten energy of passion that has no muscle memory, no interpersonal sexual dancing around unwound spools of earthy innuendos. Here, contentment is being nothing and all as is the depth of this water and width of this river on which I rest in a small boat – all this is my heartansoulanmind’s own making. Such is the contentment in the twinning of similar souls; whose single ring would in reality shame the size of Saturn’s multitude. Vivian and I are bound in the cosmos of HeavenOrHellBothOrNeither and HeavenOrHellBothOrNeither is bound within the cosmos of the spiritual we. These thoughts Merlyn considered in the contentment of his own illusions.

Vivian appears head first from the depth and width of the water and climbs into the boat. "Welcome to my part or your world, Merlyn. I can tell from your surprise that we are more closely attached than you thought."

         "How is this?" grumbled Merlyn loving her being, but not being so surprising independent to appear from under the blue. He uttered, "I have right to be alone; here in my private sanctuary."

         "These dry waters are not so private as Merlyn obviously thinks. Call these spiritual waters or imagination or what ever name you wish, they exist for I am here. We are in well-mixed waters whether they appear lake, stream, ocean or steam. " She paused to refresh, "But then, dear Merlyn, do you not desire the entirety of my company?"

        "You are not so quick and not so nakedly arrived," remarked Merlyn.

         "Me naked almost always brings you into a smile. How better to disarm your solitary nature." She sat on the small front seat of the boat and swept her right arm quickly to her neck. "How is this?"

         A shear silk-like piece of imagination covered her slightly as Merlyn in a quick rattle of masculinity desired a secret peek of the Vivian, the once Lady of the Lake and also the legendary Princess of Celtic Avalon.

He dispatched his eyes inward away from her sight that is less than his arm's length to touch.

         Vivian watches in dread as Merlyn's dark pupils rise above and behind those magnificent human-like eye sockets. His face is almost flesh borne. He is so close to my unnaturally ordered heartanmindansoul. This is Merlyn's magic. To change my spiritual makeup to place my soul on the right rather than in mid-point where it belongs. Merlyn moves my soul as I have the power to move his.

         My mind, Reason's site, is out of balance when placed nearest the less tenable but more truly compassed heart, thinks Merlyn. The snowflake-like soul, a sticky and clear-pointed composition, runs like marrow through the spiritual skeleton. She draws her mind out of the eternal balance. Who wins in such a warring-like field? The full and now awkward ghost has no chance but to howl begin stuck between heart and soul.

         Merlyn rolls his eyeballs about and drains his black pupils into inky molded into grammar and letters and words and paragraphs so that Vivian his most passionate love may read and witness him buried in two dimensions rather than his spiritual One. To read Merlyn one-in-one takes great care between heart and mind in near embrace and thus Vivian, after the shortest of imagined time finds herself more wholly together in spirit and the two specters, she and he, fly wrapped as clasped hands towards their ancestral mother, Glevema who stands by her grandfather, Panagiotakis, the oldest of human shamans in the center of the story’s HeavenOrHellBothOrNeither.

I am bewitched-in-spirit, thinks Panagiotakis. Something beyond the natural sets in the letter-less space between heartansoulanmind in Mistress Vivian and Master Merlyn and I am in wont to see it.

***