Applepicking

Aloha my ever dearest arany cicukam 

My prayers have gone apple picking

In the garden of Our Lady.

And She is you. And I keep coming up pairs (pears) you know, and that is that which is us.  I wouldn’t pick apples anyway, as allegedly they keep the doctor away, and that simply wouldn’t do.  But alas, the endless festivities will have their natural end on the morrow.  The weather has been in a holding pattern these last ten days though, remaining inexplicably radiant, hot, cloudless and simply glorious.  But, well, you know me.  There is nothing like a bit of extroversion to make me wonder about the meaning of life.

That you have gone in for a bit of caving in no way surprises me.  Mary has been rather busy, as of late. For one thing, She has seen fit to thrown me a curve ball from out in left field and it has made my life suddenly rather complicated in a most unexpected manner.  Remember what She said about my needing to wrap up all matters pertaining to my life here within the next six months or else pack it up and head North of the border?  She wasn’t kidding. 

Upon having this bit of news dumped into my lap I immediately went into shock.  Then I went into panic.  Then I roared to make the aspens tremble, and threw a royal fit.  I concluded that prayer was the only human freedom. Marriage…a fate worse than death...unless it`s to you my love.!! Like locking oneself into solitary confinement and tossing away the key.  No escape.  Worse even than monastic vows.  Worse than life in Kansas, even. Oh, woe!   

And speaking of which…it is itself the sacerdotal science of Unknowing….life, I mean.  An imitation of art.  You are no more crazy than I am, dearest.  Spatial coordinates are meaningless to that which grows us into being.  We are, “god knows what doing something which we cannot even imagine, in a place we do not see or understand.”  I wouldn’t have it any other way.  I miss you equally, sweetheart, my angel.  I love you beyond understanding.  I spent our anniversary out on a road-trip with the family.  A year and a day…that one, most precious and beautiful I spent visiting friends of the family, with all the family in tow, dogs included.  I prayed without ceasing then, for you and for peace, and for light, in the name of Her prodigal son.  My first prayer to him since our meeting in Seattle so many countless years ago.

Nu.  I am insatiable for my dragon—red, blanched, bleached, sun-ripened or dripping with the morning dew.  Don’t you know it? 

Never but that I long for the forest depth of you…there where you hide the caves of your secret being, and like Lazarus before the gates I bow in humble gratitude for all that you care to share with me, myself not daring the impertinence of trespass upon so holy a sanctuary even in my Spirit vision. 

 Sending you love and kisses and prayers and dreams for countless more years,

Your little knight Indigo.

PS:  and in case you should wonder…you I will never relinquish, even should I come to have as many wives as Solomon (gods forbid).  We are nothing, if not forever.  You and I.  And but as to where we are going…I haven’t a clue.  I am content with that, because it is love that is going about the business of her mistress through us.  We are merely taken along for the ride.  And so it should be.  After all, we are the web and the weaving, the spider and the fly, and for all we know—sinners in the hands of an angry god—and well, roll over Calvin, me thinks he never loved but was content to give even god in troth to his beloved, and that at the gods expense.