The 'Cluster site' of the Journey of love.

Journeys of the Mind, (C)1994-2004 A. Alexander Volenski

Chapter 8, unedited excerpts
Location: the Isle of Ibiza.
Characters: Stilly & Harry
Time: A summer evening.

The Child

  As evening approached Ibiza, dark overcast skies opened to let the setting
sun show itself for a few moments; and the liberated inventory of Stilly
and Harry would now begin.  A compelling spirit shared this setting sun
with the delicate consciousness of a man who walked alone near the sea.
Grey cloud above, grey cloud below, only a very thin opening like a crack
between worlds, stretched across the horizon.  The opening was rectangular
in shape, and the sun slowly moved toward it.
  The sea was not calm, for in the swelling motion on its surface, there was
a brisk wind.  Little waves gushed along, riffling and dancing, almost
rhythmic and laughing as they went.  The image of the sun reflected upon
this sea, displaying a soft golden column of light.  The sun very low in
the west, glistened with a profusion of golden-rosy gleam, as its stream
of light breathed a total vastness into aery sky and glimmering deep,
and with this shimmering approach to redden, so too was included watching
soul standing nigh in silence.  This reflected line of illumination laid
straight and narrow upon the sea in its flaxen blond tawny, even yellow
hue of golden-mellow, near blinding, yet somehow gentle in brightness it
posed, with blush of warmth.  The man alone next to the sea, looked to the
reflected column of light and could feel the quiet beating of his heart
which seemed to pulse to the rhythm of the surge before him.
  Harry was alone taking a walk near the shore, and as he scanned this silent
illumine of sunlight on the watery surface, he imagined it to be a path
of light to walk upon, a road, a lane, a trailing avenue that lay upon a
supple and sensuous rhythmic fluid plain.  'A footpath,' he thought, 
'fashioned to be traveled only by the mind.'  As he observed, he took a
deep breath, inhaling salty air, and detected there was something noble
he should notice within this setting which lay in-wait for the kiss of 
twilight to arrive.  The sunset he saw was appealing and immediate, a rare 
moment it seemed to him, something unmatched, original, random, and precisely
calm, something ageless.  Tonight everything seemed different, as though
he had found an intersection in his life, a rare juncture that reached to
a crossing of consent, perhaps to reveal a bridging-with, as clinging
vastness and importance both clothed him with their passion.
  Harry walked further on the shore and began to detect the texture of his
emotions, as the human psyche, like a mosaic opus, endeavored to speak
and reason with him.  In its benevolence and nature, the psyche, pliable
and often reserved, grasped him, indicating a willingness and compassion
for his manliness to engender.  The human psyche encompassed with awe and
rarely mentioned, knows more about the human, than the human.  Like a 
hidden intelligence that's always there, the psyche in its motif of
silence and consistency, is aware of everything the human does, all it
feels, where it goes, why it lives; and Harry walked on feeling the pebbles
beneath his feet.
  His surroundings seemed to disappear and fade, only the sunlit pathway
upon moistness of sea appeared to exist.  His mind with unending memory spoke,
and Harry listened, reasoned, interpreted, and tried to understnad the
exhilarating ardor that he felt.  He floated effortlessly, only seeing the
bright shining line reflected there before him in musing fashion, as a line 
reaching toward, and he seemed to be mesmerized by its beam.
  The human character within Harry stood and looked, all his social and
immediate importance disappeared, family memories, profession, love and a
Lady, even living, took a back seat to this moment.  And it was then that
he asked himself, "why am I here?"  In his silence, his rationale began
to dance with obscurity, and they (both) twirled together upon the floor
of wonderment, kissing as they floated to a rhythm of muse in harmony.
"In my birth, what was born with me," Harry asked himself, and in the silent
unanswered moment he watched as the sun set, and he pondered why he had
this life.
  The man inside the man was very still and saw the sun slide away into
what seemed only sea...  Almost like a natural manifestation, this particular
setting sun, within its natural quest, trying to communicate a message of
a spirited kind to his physical world of existence, an existence designed
and mantled with endeavor.  The cloud cover was shaped with an unique opening
inbetween, like a narrow slot, something to glide through.
  ...Harry took a few steps and looked out to sea, gazing far into the
distance toward where luminous had rushed.  ...'Oh wandering self,' he
thought, 'oh, wandering spirited soul that I am, when will I be free, free
to understand why I am here?'  The human caught in its own nature, can be
nothing more than what it is, yet it tries to attach more to everything
it sees, everything it feels, everything it can know, understand, touch,
take, give, love, but in the finality, it still can only be that which
it is meant to be, a being designed and created with an individual purpose.
  ...He stood motionless as in a trance, yet his mind was keen, and again
he asked, "why am I here?"  The feeling, impression and memory of a father
now gone, arose within him.  Harry looked toward the shore in front of where
he stood, the sand and pebbles were wet, and then he looked out to sea
where he focused upon the now darkening horizon, and he relaxed his mind.
...And Harry imagined his father walking near and next to that filament,
coming toward him, strolling with roving form on passionate beach.  The
seaside continued its bridging, tying, linking, as he held his concentraed
image of father, until it seemed his father was actually standing nearby,
yet Harry knew this imagery was not able to cross over into where he now
stood.  "Too bad," he spoke to himself.  "Fine tuned is the memory," he
reflected, "if the surroundings are just right."  "Dear father," he spoke
out loud, "I suppose there is nothing I can say to you that would make a
difference now that you are gone, yet I still feel there are so many things
we should share, advise, reasoning, conjectures, and I would have it that
we try to speak in mind if it be so."
  Harry stood there in the night like a marbled statue from ancient times,
and wished there were more words he could speak to his father, but only
thinking-words could there now be.  Two separate folds combined he would
find, like drifting currents synthesized and intermingled, streaming though
unknown, yet known they be for him and father free.  Harry looked again
across the sea towards that place of remaining light, and asked a third
time, "why am I here?"  And there appeared a picture of Stilly that flashed
through the visionary of his mind.  How far from that spur of the moment
meeting with its folded message, The Geneve Lady and he had come, how far
from what had appeared to be only a romantic affair, had their relationship
opened too; awareness is sweet when veracity is there.  ...Were Stilly and
he, somehow placed here in this time by some exterior design or compelling
marvel, and if so, where did it originate, abide, endure, and lead, and
how was it significant to them both.
  Loves simple launching will take us where we never imagined, to a place
we'll never forget, nor want to leave.  A place where the world remains
always moving beyond in the sense of never ending, beyond in the sense 
that it can never be lost.  Love may become hidden, or seem to be gone,
yet the substance of what it really is, is always there, will always be
there, as it awaits our arrival.
  Harry wondered, he listened, he knew, and down deep he felt an enveloping
warmth, as he tried to translate his love with Stilly to a coupled pair,
and how to combine, amalgamate, and embrace this woman, whose existence
he recognized to be interwoven and entwined completely with his.  He stepped
forward upon the sand of the shore, a shore that would always be a shore
with more meaning than all the other shores in his life.  ...While he 
viewed this sea, a phrase came echoing through his mind, "to realize life,"
and he remember his dream last night of an ancient ship, a vessel which
sailed the sea for war, and the woman on that ship who called him Afar.
...Afar, the man of war, had moved toward a living conscious doorway in
this life, or was there only one life, one chance perhaps out of many,
which existed for Afar?  The Dreaming Place must exist somewhere, somehow,
Harry reasoned, otherwise he wouldn't know of it.
  ...Harry meditated, "oh simple soul that you are, oh far reaching spirit
always there, oh past and future depicting all, please let me accept and
understand the emotions, passions, and how they impact humankind."  ..."Oh
far reaching dear sea," he asked, "can and will you extend your power
to her and me?"  ...And like squeezing the last drop from something, he
felt a quality within squeeze everything out of him as now he realized
how thorough the great depth of self can be, when squeezing life, how very
defined and decisive.
  ...Harry began to feel good, and looked out to sea, the darkness seemed
to lighten a little and the sea in its continuing sway washed up to him,
splashed against him, and then he saw something afloat in the water, a 
half submerged object.  He reached out for it, and as his fingers felt the
coolness of the night water, they took hold, and he lifted up the object.
  Harry stood and looked at what he held, it was a long piece of wood in
the shape of a staff.  A staff shaped, formed and made by nature's hand,
for it appeared nothing of man had ever touched this long piece of wood.
Harry ran his hand over the staff, the ends were round and rough, worn by
the rub of the sea, its shaft was smooth and plain, polished by the brush
of the sea, and the shaft stood at eye level against him very straight.
He accepted this staff as a gift of the sea to match the moment, a liberty
engendered and manifested by wind and deep; for who knew in what form the
power of love may show itself.  The force of the will, when combined, shared,
given, entrusted, can draw from multiple sources, and as he stood there
he nodded toward the Mediterranean in recognition to this symbolic gift.
  ...Harry sat for what seemed decades of time, as the free wielding
patterns and blends of his life reeled across an horizon, seen only there
within the chronicle of his past.  Then he asked himself a forth time,
"why am I here?"  And like an invisible threshold which opened within the
identity he had, a presence seemed to speak to him, and he listened.  The
identity, like a dark shadowy shade, seemed to move apart from Harry and
sit across from him.  Harry did not move, he only observed the shadowy
form.  Like fingers from another time and place, the cool breeze fluffed
the hair and touched the brow of this dim figure.  The dark and misty spirit
spoke and repeated the gist of his question, "why are you here?"  Harry
stared in silence.  Then the dark and shadowy shade answered saying,
"you have been here a long time, I would consel that you too, think of
your father, think of your mother, think of the woman, and think of your
love tucked away inside."  There was a long pause of silence, and suddenly
Harry envisioned the shadowy shape to slide back into himself.  Harry did
not move, but seemed like a solid rock frozen within a long span of time,
and his mind wandered and seemed tired, his body ached, his arms were numb,
lifeless, weak, however he did not waver, and held tight the staff which
braced him.  Then he peered toward the water and spoke, "there is much Harold,
that you will change about yourself," and slowly but steadily he felt the
life force return to him in warmth, as the numbness he felt faded away.
  He continued to look upon the sea, and lifting his eyes skyward, he spoke
again, "thank you dear mother and father for giving me this body in life,
and thank you Love for making it all possible."  Harry closed his eyes to
hide the tears that formed, for it was not like him to show any tears.
He now conceded how complete and potent his love was, and his commitment
to it.  Stilly had in someway, opened a part of him which no one had in the
past, and this he recognized as a precise event.  Opening his eyes to the
surrounding darkness, the tears were released and splashed to earth and
fell upon the pebbles that encircled his feet.  He still did not move,
but sat perfectly motionless, grasping the staff in the darkness.  It was
as though many centuries of time had passed during his meditation of love,
all taking place within the short span of these few hours.  ...Harry lifted
the staff and placed it across his knees (as he sat on the beach) and
balanced it there, and he leaned back on his elbows relaxing.
  The future Harry reasoned, was now a future that though unknown in many
ways to him, would be tied and shared with her, and instinctively he knew
it contained something they both were apart of, and had always been a part.
It seemed as if they had always lived together in another time and place,
on some other magnitude of classified dimension.
  He stood and leaned on the staff, and pressed his weight against it,
and the staff was strong and sunk between the kernal like pebbles of the
shore, and he could feel some roughness from the staff upon his hands.
And Harry began to realize how so like the staff he was.
  The staff, cast into a teeming sea of vastness, traveled here and there
as the sea carried it, and life similar to the sea, too, carried Harry
as he traveled here and there within his sea of the living.  This staff
with its symbolic purpose, eventually consummated that purpose, when it
had reached him, a man also with a purpose.  As Harry reflected, he began 
to see and understand how his life was like the voyage of the staff.  A
similar excursion his life, one that advanced through a teeming sea of
systems and patterns, like wind and waves, all being held to an appointment,
with recollection and recognition.  Perhaps his meeting and bond with Stilly,
was a consummation reached of a strategy complete; their purpose with a
blend.  It all seemed so, and he knew also there would be another purpose to
be reached as they now traveled together through their sea of vitality.
A sea unknown to them until now, yet a sea that had always existed for
them, a sea that subconsciously they both knew, an unlimited expansive sea
of vigilant love.  As he now walked up the path toward the house, he began
to conclude that everything that had happened since he met Stilly, pointed
toward an original principle, which evolved internally and externally
toward their existence in the future.
  ...Inside the villa, Stilly lay upon the soft couch, a couch that held
her like arms, invisible arms, and as it clasp around her it reflected
back her warmth and was comforting, yet it still was just a couch.  Near
where she lay, the marble table oval in shape sat low to the floor, a floor
of a room that fluttered with soft light, a light which came from the 
kindled flame of the fireplace.  The blaze seemed to knead the logs in its
flickering stirring way, as its glowing coals licked and flared.  The fire
twirled with passion as it danced to a pulse which seemed to breath move
and touch, in a form exquisite.  Delicately fluxing, the fire refined its
ingredients, consuming transforming and metamorphosing all into radiating
heat while Stilly lay watching and thinking.  She detected a current within
her like a metamorphic progression.  The current felt like sensual hands
running smoothing soothing caressing.  Stilly sensed a transformation in
progress, stimulating and fusing, copulating, blending, as it sang its
metamorphous song to the melodious harmonies within her.
  Opulence abounding through the meadow of metamorphosis, reaching ever
closer, coming swiftly as upon zephyrs of natural beautiful passion.  
Its stretching tender fingers touched and pulsed as they moved through
her complexities and imagining's to become one with the form she possessed.
  The psyche knowing all and silent, the identity performing alone, the
subconscious and conscious listening, the will and destiny both awake,
and sweet reason contemplating; all keenly alert.
  ..."Oh, meandering mind," she thought, "forever shaping, forming, moving,
oh, promenading spirit, taking, giving, doing, oh, sweet soul, how meandering
seems so to possess you too.  Oh, so like my ambling stairway you are,
my meandering mind,"...and she focused her eyes upon the small silver box
there on the table.
  As she traced the pattern engraved upon it, its rosette arrangement shown
in varied combinations of reflected shades, with shapes and impressions in
relief, and these comforted her, and she wanted to be always in this 
comforting spell, a spell of love and silvered reflections.  Stilly pictured
Harry sitting in Geneva at the cafe with the sunny afternoon, and she wondered
whether her man of dream was now just a dream within a dream; could she
still be asleep at her home there in Geneva?  Could she have stepped into
a world of her mind, a hologram of thought, a world materialized from the
undiluted dreams she had of him.  Had she somehow unknowlingly stepped off
her staircase onto a plain of duration made solely from her own imagining,
a plain separate, even isolated.
  This thought frightened her, because if it were true, what control did
she have over it, and where would she be if her stairway began to fade.
She must have faith in her own ability to achieve what she wanted.  She
must not let uncertainties obscure her mind, or interfere with the love
Harry and her yearned to share.
  'It did not matter,' she thought, 'whether this was a dream or not, all 
that mattered was that Harry and her continue united, extending themselves
toward an assimilated authenticity with direction.'
  Who knew where the unknown realm of love may take a couple, and what divine
sophistication it may entail.  Where did loves hidden domain really reside,
and would they meet there again, for it seemed to her that they had been
within that realm in another span of time.  Yes, she would apply her thoughts
and will toward continued unanimity, and let the 'providence of love' free
to work its design.
  Love traveled upon a beam of its own, swayed and whirled in many directions,
as it glided along while it spoke in silent refinement, a refinement meant
to caress her point of view in a multitude of ways.
  ...Closing her eyes, she visualized a misty opaque surrounding, sky, air,
ground, all blanketed with whiteness.  Stilly continued to look into her
imagining, and saw many marble pillars scattered at random, stretching
into the distance.  The plain of columns appeared alone and unattached
in its progression, peculiar the plain appeared, positioned in surrounding
mist.  Now in front of her, Stilly saw a multitude of rose petals scattered
on the ground.  They were of all sizes, their colors vibrant and penetrating
to her sight, some red, others pink, white, yellow, and among them she saw
one which was blue, a full 'blue bud'; very rare was that blue rose, like 
a blue-moon.
  The blue rose lay next to one of the pillars, and she became curious,
and she wondered what it suggested.  Moving in thought toward that column,
she looked at the pillar, for something caught her attention.  There was
writing cut upon it, golden letters glittered on its surface, 'a message,'
she thought, 'from a hidden field of the innate.'  The writing was clear,
detailed and bold, the gold letters sparkled and read, 'I desire to be
with love,' and then that intrinsic message faded away.
  Stilly returned to present, and saw in the dim light of the room the
flickering reflections on the ceiling from the fire.  Her perception had
reached forward like a quiet breeze reached forward as it touched the 
surface of an object, and as the object felt the touch, so too, Stilly
felt her perspective widen, reaching out into vastness.  The unlimited
realm of thought came illustrated and clear, and was open to release messages
hidden deep inside her.
  "I desire to be with love," she spoke to herself, referring to the gold
writing upon the column; and in the stillness surrounding her, she reasoned
that there was much more to love then smooth surface texture; and moving
her hands, she felt and formed fingers touching fingers.  It seemed that
something was present trying to relay a message to her; how easy it is
to not listen to the simple thoughts conveyed in one's own mind.
  ...Stilly at that moment felt assured her desire and identity stood together.
She imagined them both (desire & identity) smiling and looking toward the
psyche within her, and it was during that moment that she felt a twinge,
a physical sensation, one she had never before felt.  The motive force
living, flashed through her entire body as she lay there alone on the couch.
Its potency felt warm, soothing, absolute in an ultimate way, complete,
healthy, sturdy it seemed as it touched her, and she was pleased, and did
not move in her stillness.
  She began to know, began to sense what this new feeling was, for it was
a natural feeling inborn, all part of being woman.  She knew and recognized
this 'twinge' to be a timely one, a genesis event, which indicated a new
life force; and she laid there quietly as she felt her fingers touching
fingers.  A palpable conception had occurred within her.
  "Come let us live the wish of the lovers kiss," she whispered, recalling
her sensual dream with Harry last night.  Stilly smiled to herself in 
recognition to her understanding, and looked to the table with the objects
which sat upon it.  And she felt a difficulty arouse within her that struggled,
filtered, weighed the love dream she shared with Harry, a dream of consciousness,
for all was remembered and acknowledged.  Then a sudden relief entered her,
a warm and penetrating glow, and she felt happy, for she knew Harry also
shared and remembered that preeminent event.  A dream that she now recognized
to exist beyond the 'land of dream'.  For a new entity would soon emerge,
conceived within a sphere of dream; there was not doubt, for she realized
a child was beginning to form within her and would soon be here; for she
understood the twinge she felt, to be that very twinge of motherhood.
  Stilly recalled the childlike words, "a love, love," words she had heard
spoken at the close of that experience in dream, and (she) smiled at their
cupid-like tone.  She closed her eyes and imagined floating free, gravity
free, lifing, rising, and like a guided melody which drifts and touches
the ear with its intention, so too, Stilly moved like such a melody in hopes
she would perceive where that cupid expression of the child-like kind really
originated.  After a time, Stilly interpreted 'a love, love,' as forerunner
words, a conceptional signal relayed to acquaint her...  Words sent from
the future.
  "Love, loves, the sky love," she spoke to herself, as she continued to 
drift within the quiet domain of her mind, trying with all her ability to
see within her imagining, to view the true actuality of what was to unfold.
  ...In semi darkness, conceding to her inner being, and feeling what her
inner being knew, a duality emerged and was clearly present; a new separate
intelligence was forming within her, one she clearly perceived.  The twinge
that she had felt, was a spark, a message of something fresh to arrive,
and instinctively, she knew she would be able to confirm to Harry their
expectation of a child.
  This 'consciousness' she sensed was new, its presence seemed like a shifting
light, a small newly discovered light shining in the darkness, a conceptional
form from the land of Nativity.  Opening her eyes, she leaned over and looked
to the fire, and wondered how a child conceived in dream could step with
her into this world.  She wondered also, how her man of love and desire
would react to the knowledge of such a conception found only in sensual
dreams of love.
  ...Stilly realized how rare this coupling was, and the child that came
from it would be, and doubly important, how far reaching their lives would
now become as they explored together toward the future.  Stilly looked 
toward the fireplace, and as it glowed, its golden coals were bright and
pulsing.  The coals seemed like glowing crystals, crystals filled with
energy, energy that radiated, streamed, and reached as it rode upon her
pathway of sight, to be absorbed and drawn to the self-contained entity
which she was; a woman designated by love.  The light of the fire appeared
as a fluxing back-ground that accented, enhanced, enlivened the silvery
box and statuette upon the table.  The figure Hermes, seemed almost alive
in appearance, and she wondered about that Ancient Herald's mythical powers
and legendary personality.
  The she moved her feet, and they were warm as they touched the silken
pillow, a pillow in the present, and she knew she was linked to a spanning
vastness which existed within eternity.  Stilly remained motionless, only
the soul within her stirred, as her feelings, will, desire, glided within
a stream of contentment, for she felt joy, goodness, hopefulness, and cheer,
with all the mirth that went with such passion.
  Then Stilly stood and walked across the room, a room lit only by a fire,
and she stepped out onto the patio.  Its slate was cool to the touch of
her delicate feet, and she looked into the darkness toward the pavilion
and saw Harry standing there.
  She walked toward him, as he waited and looked in her direction.

~

[Next, Chapter 9, The Oasis;
note: this text is yet to be proof read].

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