He came to me on white wings to deliver my karma.
He came to find out for himself just how real my love could be, and to teach me that in turn. He came to take me through the ring of fire and burn the ice off my own heart.
He came to me on lies and white wings, for somehow they can indeed co-exist – as the poison is absorbed the strength is born, the light must burn even brighter and the love, well – sometimes you have to dig even deeper for it. Dig in the recesses of your own mind full of ugliness and amnesia, stuck in some rigidity of judgment, or simply afraid of its own power.
These little shifts in perception; seeing the mind, the past, the other, the pure and the profane, all as patterns upon the totality — at some point the river of endless thoughts can stream down into the heart center, for something else is happening.
A feeling of all-encompassing love, and forgiveness.
A recognition that all of it is you. The redemption in that.
An inner sovereignty to be just as you were born to be, just as you are right now. A trust in one’s own desires, as unexpected as they might seem.
What I mean to say is:
He came on white wings and he broke me. He shattered the illusions and the fantasy and the very attraction to his shadow.
I danced with him in the name of love, both spiritual and animal, and I found a home in his arms that I didn’t want to leave.
The energy was always heightened because of a sense of temporariness – I didn’t want to admit but I sometimes did, that he felt like sand running through my hands. Even now, a little grieving happens as I look at what was and see — it was never what I wanted it to be.
So maybe that’s the real grief. Mourning the man I wanted him to be, mourning the love I wanted to have, mourning the relationship that came on white wings to deliver my karma.
These angels, these karmic angels, they do us more good than we can ever know.