the lost man chronicles
book two: the art of love
the lost man's missing piece
there is an empty space in my wheel which i desire to fill with a certain woman. i want Her to spin with me as part of my mandala, my myth, the circle which is my life, just as i might roll alongside Her.
yes, there is a missing piece of me rolling on Her own somewhere, somewhere out there, rolling all alone.
i want Her finger to push all my buttons and switch on my power, to have Her hand distill my aging spirit, and to have Her body consume all my energy. and i want Her to reach inside and touch the center of me, gracefully calming that indefatigable storm.
i want her to float above the norm as the wheel in the sky that awakens my religion, She who creates the beginning and the end, but She who will not judge me when i dispel the mystery and reveal that i am only human.
as my epiphany, She shall shed light for me, guiding me through the vanity of knowledge into the ignorance of existential being.
and She will be willing to be part of me and my pique experiences, mutually transcending into serenity, as we outwardly, extend ourselves on the journey into the unknown.
the art of living the art of love