38. Ultimate Love Sucks Your Insides Out

It is like a dream ending, except that we return to sleep instead of waking. The end

is chaos, as if we are feeling trapped and want to be free, and then find ourselves

surrounded by fire in a night club, the band in flames, the music hot, the dancers in

the frenzy of their termination, or as in the zendo seated on our cushion as if our hair

were on fire, nothing more important than tending to that immolation, the body tilts

into the heat, wavering, a melting toward silence. What goes is the heat. What comes

is the cold. It is only natural, the kinetic freezes and for a moment we can look back

over the landscape, such a vast retreat toward origins that are themselves not origins

but forgetfulness. I’ve wondered if in the conflagration I might recognize love, what I

so desperately felt for Caroline, who at the end of my days was supposed to complete

me but eviscerated me, not her intent, but sucked the insides out, the kind of emptying

we all need finally, perhaps an ultimate love that takes everything. I am left an empty

shell. All of the dead are empty shells. All of the dead litter the floor of a tropic hut like

scorpions in their blessed catastrophe.

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