LOVING THE EYE OF THE STORM
I sail the Ship of Love through the Sensual Storm…battling hurricanes of Compromise threatening my course. The ship’s decks groan. Waves of Fear and Doubt crash and pound, eager to knock me overboard. The howling wind torments, screeching I am not loved by you with the same passion as I love you.
Oh, my Love, I captain your Ship of Love with the undying determination of a father in search of a lost child. I steer her prow into the fierce storm. I navigate toward the storm's eye, believing that inside its calm and restful nucleus awaits an island of Peace
It is not just the island nested in the eye of the storm that drive me. Upon each horizon is perched the Hope our Love will melt and mix from separate parts into a delicious and delicate whole. Unified, I believe we will anchor our Love in the storm’s heart, safe from all intrusions of Doubt or Fear challenging our Love.
A great hole exists in each of our hearts when we are apart. We shy from admitting to its endless depth or that its abyss draws us down each day until gravity consumes all our dreams. To survive we accept we are happy when we are sad…we are sated when we yearn…that we have when we have not.
Are such thoughts but a mere Compromise of Love? Is this the Storm of Love?
Can Love be pickled into Compromise, brined like the cucumber by immoral resignation that a little Love—just a smidgen here and there, just a meager crumb--heals the hole in our Sensual Soul?
Is Love’s compromise nothing more than a thousand soul scabs camouflaging endless wounds of unfaithful inconsideration by Love pretenders?
Isn’t it the spears of these pretenders' unfaithful inconsiderations that stabs the corners of the heart and drains the last vestiges of passion from our Well of Love?
Is Love’s compromise nothing more than a thousand soul scabs camouflaging endless wounds of unfaithful inconsideration by Love pretenders?
Isn’t it the spears of these pretenders' unfaithful inconsiderations that stabs the corners of the heart and drains the last vestiges of passion from our Well of Love?
Love’s little Compromises curses humanity. Their delusions drives struggling Lovers to callous beliefs that True Love can exist by the snapping of fingers...or blinking of eyes...or spreading of legs...or that Love can be reduced to the simple act of reaching up into the stars and plucking a celestial diamond's pure and shiny beauty with thumb and forefinger, then kissing its luminescence in a futile attempt to ignite the dying embers of our battered, lonely hearts.
No. Love is earned not plucked. It is not bought but sought. There is no magic to it. It is gains fortitude only by sailing through the Storms of Love. Only the pressure of not compromising Love''s truths creates its value.
It survives and strengthens because we weather the storms, never expecting Love to leap into our arms. Instead, we leap into its arms, offering ourselves unconditionally to Love's essence, ever searching for the center, for Womb of Love.
It survives and strengthens because we weather the storms, never expecting Love to leap into our arms. Instead, we leap into its arms, offering ourselves unconditionally to Love's essence, ever searching for the center, for Womb of Love.
But I guard you, my Love, to not let your Sensuous Soul succumb to the warts of compromise.
For every wound in your heart, my dearest, there is a rose petal swollen with Love’s salve to heal the scar, to erase the pain and anguish of past memories where the petals of your Love were crushed under the jackboot of false expectations or horrid inconsideration of your tenderness, your sweetness by Love pretenders.
For every wound in your heart, my dearest, there is a rose petal swollen with Love’s salve to heal the scar, to erase the pain and anguish of past memories where the petals of your Love were crushed under the jackboot of false expectations or horrid inconsideration of your tenderness, your sweetness by Love pretenders.
Despite the Sensuous Storms that challenge my search for your Love, I soldier through the crushing, heaving tempestuous Seas of Love, knowing that as one storm passes and another brews, that if I were to compromise and flee for safe harbor and the warmth of the sun, that you might have drowned in wait, suffocated by the knowledge I yielded in the Battle for your Love. That I turned my ship away.
In your heart, my most precious of all thoughts, let it be ever known that I sail through the Sensual Storms, navigating toward the Eye of Love, in search of that Edenesque resort where we, in full and naked embrace, shed all scars of our long and arduous journey, and as fresh babes just born, know solely the Innocence of Love, sans its compromises.
Know I always sail toward you, my dearest, in fearless quest.
Know there is no compromise to my Love for you.
No end to its journey.
Forever Yours,
Cyrano!
Anderson-McKenzie
As the Thorn Protects the Rose, My Pen Preserves Our Love
© 2012, Cyrano! Anderson-McKenzie, C.A. McKenzie. All Cyrano! writings are original and created daily by the author. Anyone wishing to contribute funds to the maintenance and support of the Cyrano! blog should send their contributions to C.A. McKenzie, 53 East 7th St. #9, NY, NY 10003
© 2012, Cyrano! Anderson-McKenzie, C.A. McKenzie. All Cyrano! writings are original and created daily by the author. Anyone wishing to contribute funds to the maintenance and support of the Cyrano! blog should send their contributions to C.A. McKenzie, 53 East 7th St. #9, NY, NY 10003
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