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@ 27.055 MHz: Ad Astra; Seb, At Dusk, On A Summer Evening
Waning in the west, Saturday's sun
relinquishes the cloudless sky to his
numerous brethren and kin. As the
sable screen unfurls above you, the
seven minute light dissipates (like
not appreciated by most, locally) and
sixteen thousand years of stars' lights
begin to constellate the sky. And
who are you, looking upon them so
delightedly (as if for the first time,
aware of them in that way the first time)?
Seb?---standing in your back yard (which
your fathers keeps as trimmed as a golf
course putting green); Seb, standing,
unshod, in your back yard, clad in baggy
gray cuffed slacks, and a long-sleeved
white shirt, utterly unbuttoned and untucked
(defiant of neighbors' couture expectations
stated), with flawlessly sheer white socks
(semi-opaque around the toes). You are the
most beautiful of your parents' several sons,
most beautiful of your vicinity's fully
efflorescent adolescents (your boyfriend,
older than you, is aware of his privilege).
Know that the very atoms of your flesh were
fused in stars' cores, then ejaculated into
deep space until, at the proper time, they
became your body. And the vital soul
(breathed into you by the StarCreator, the
soul that simultaneously needs and offers
male to male love) has realized one of its
prime functions---to take delivery of the
stars' light that your eyes have (even at this
very moment) collected. As ancient as sixteen
thousand years, that light is brought to
you by the stars, whose legacy you are, and
your beauty is their constant delectation.
Starward-Led
Reading this, I feel richer
Reading this, I feel richer for breathing the air of a celestial realm where words transcend the terrestrial, and I feel poorer for having been away for too long and nearly missing your crowning achievement: a culmination of everything this series represents.
This supreme homage to beauty is a mind blowing saga: from its astronomical source and its profound sixteen thousand year journey to its embodiment in an Earth angel, blithely aloof to convention and rocking those baggy pants and whimsical socks.
Your poetic craftsmanship and intricate stitching of vast, cosmic concepts with endearing, resonant humanness becomes a superpower in this incredible work.
I’m deeply sorry that I’m so insanely busy that I’ve been neglecting your precious creations. But I’ll try to pop in when I can and indulge in true art and true soul work when I can.
Brightest blessings.
I am so overwhelmed with
I am so overwhelmed with gratitude right now, gratitude not just on the horizontal plane of internet communication, but also on the vertical plane of twenty plus years on this site.
I have never had a comment quite so superlative, and after reading yours, I feel that I have reached the point of which I first dreamed starting Monday, October 13th, 1975, when, as a senior in high school, I set aside my science fiction ambitions and turned to Poetry. In June, I will have three procedures done; and, because of my other health issues, they have to be performed withi the hospital itself. The outcomes may not be good. The immediate outcomes could be dangerous to me. This comment not only validates the poem, but strengthens me, as akin to a prayer, for June's difficulties.
Starward-Led [in Chrismation, Januarius]
I felt a calling to stop by
I felt a calling to stop by your page yesterday and now I know why. Thank you for your words of kindness and appreciation as well as the update on your situation. I will be praying for you with great urgency throughout the month of June. Remember that you are a beacon and forever valued.
Thank you. I am trying to
Thank you. I am trying to keep my nerves calm as June's days approach. Your prayers are GREATLY appreciated.
Starward-Led [in Chrismation, Januarius]