The Flickering Lights of Heaven

Lovely talk with 'she who will not be named' for the sake of privacy, I promise that I won't make a habit of using our conversations for blog posts I-B...at least not often. 

Received a lovely card from my very good friend here which got me to a thinking about something someone said earlier this week; "Men and Women cannot be friends. Men have a biological need to try and become a Women's 'mate'", now clearly you're thinking as I am, this is one smooth guy. If I was a girl and this guy started talking about Darwin and evolutionary cycles then he'd be guaranteed a place in the bedroom. However, of course nous sommes in the real world, and I thought, "But I have a multitude of female friends who I haven't tried to talk about the life cycle of dinosaurs with...', it's quite possible I'm just not a smooth and confident as our evolutionist/paleontologist friend here. 

The much often quoted friend, who is a girl and testament to my thoughts on this subject, said something twice to me which I still can't remember because both times it has been late at night. And I had been drinking wine. "People become friends with who they are attracted to" which is a valid point, you become attracted to their comedy, similarities or looks etc... "and then if you spend a lot of time with them you get a. lot. closer" aHA! Allor mon cher we have the crux of it! My male acquaintances, friends and those I detest (it is more than possible that if you are reading this I may hate you) women are not an inevitable 'conquest', with less contact time you = a very good friend.

The first of a series of selected readings from Child Of God by Cormac McCarthy - which is a fantastic book from a stunning writer. 

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Drifting up through the two bedroom house Aromas drift and flirt with me Curving through my longing senses Hypnotic smells intising me.

As shafts of light colour the room in shades of gold and white I lift my feet from bed to floor and shake away the night.

Standing erect like a soldier on guard, I identified the smell, And knew that I would seek it out,If it meant both death and hell.

Prowling round the steaming jungle, I searched, in vain, some say, But to find that lustful smell, I'd search both night and day.

In the lower canopy I came upon the source, Nestled tightly in the branches a metal cup of sorts, And within was something dark, I found hard to describe, But I would have slain any man to make sure that cup was mine.

She was tall and slender. Looking at me with inquisitive eyes that seemed to stare directly at me, not just me though. In all my time on Earth this moment confirmed the idea of a duality in man, the body and the mind, the body and the spirit because she saw far deeper into me than just my eyes. It felt far different than just a visual cortex sending electrical signals, it felt like there was a deeper part of me that she understood. Her skin was softly pale, like silk, yet there was a hue of rose in her cheeks. The English rose stood before me in perfect personification, the embodiment of romantic poetry held me with her eyes. There was no makeup, this I could tell and her lips were not red or seductive. Slender and elegant her lips composed her face, soft and inviting. The nose of this girl was slight, small, graceful as if sculpted and placed there with as much care as could be given. Everything about her seemed elegant and pure.

As she lifted her phone, a modern realisation that this was not Helena and I was standing in 2013, her arm floated up and there was her phone in her hand, this is all very obvious and silly to remark on but if you had seen the way she used her movements so gracefully you too would be writing it down. “I’ll go and find them”, she said, I don't remember what I said and then she never returned. I often think back to the moment I saw her standing there, with those eyes so brown they seemed almost black, almost capable of drawing me in closer. Closer. Closer.