Although the featureless quality of pure space cannot be grasped by words or fingers, whatever was here before and remains forever after lovingly wraps itself around my heart in the softest of embraces. I know it is you, who else could it be? In the sky-like nature of your enduring smile, every door is left wide open for the great miracle beings to come and go as freely as the summer breeze, but none of them with all of their magic can apply the same subtle touch of love upon my heart as you, Beloved, and so I share this memory.
On this night, without rejecting them, all of the wide world’s sorrows have dissolved into themselves. Without attaining it, heaven nevertheless appears. Between these two, which are not separated by even the width of a robin’s breath, we wander hand in hand, singing nonsense songs to each other out of the sheer joy of being in each other’s ecstatic presence. We’re together again on a Saturday Night, sublimed in the midst of infinity, and loving each other beyond any words, for words can’t express this divinity.
From where we stand, life expands out in every direction. Because each street has its own name, we choose the one that’s called “the nameless”. Like two giddy drunks we weave and sway down the luminous boulevard, not even noticing that our feet have left the ground and we are walking now on air. We circumnambulate the Fountain of the 16 Buddhas, just as the dusk turns into night and the streetlights begin to flicker.
Here we rejoice in the shine of our own light, leaping out of the same darkness from which the light has sprung, and so light leaps for itself, again and again, in its own inimitable way. We have no complaint. Why would we?
You said: “As I walk tonight around the fountain of the Sixteen Buddhas, the half moon tilts, spilling light, my head tilts, spilling light, the water spills, tilting light, lilting moonlight strikes my eye, striking a note on the mind drum, peeling the light-years away, and with them every hope and fear of what may come, and regret for what has passed away.”
I looked at you. You looked at me. Love took a good long look at itself, then we continued walking. Soon enough we came to the local church, St. Catherine’s by name. I climbed the stairs and stood by the door with a welcoming smile and a nod, greeting the parishioners who were just arriving for the Saturday evening service.
Meanwhile, you wrote an anonymous letter to the parish pastor, overflowing with secret Vedic truths. This random act of eccentric kindness would resonate in the upper chambers, where the devas and dakinis play. Then you deposited the note in the church mailbox, and we resumed our stroll down the Avenue.
Streaming slightly above our heads, a rippling current of exotic warm air accompanied us on our way back home. The street lamps flickered on and off till we reached the door at Apartment 4C, where the charms of the night awaited within, and the sacred and mundane freely mingled.
Before long, that fat old sun was rising again on another day, so we drove on over to Suisan Bay, where the Redwing Blackbirds sported in tulle beds, and the ducks and geese liked to gather and play, and because it was just the right thing to do, we brought along bread crumbs to feed them.