Of love

We love, because it is the only true adventure. This is our story, of Oliver and Suzanne--like so many souls that are searching for their other half. We have been blessed for we have  found each other..

GOD--I am truly overwhelmed. I had no idea we had written so many letters, cards, notes on our lives, on love. I am sure there is well over 1,800 maybe far more. When I did your cards I just took a random batch and copied them, and didn`t bother to look--now I don`t know where to start .  But I will-- this is a true a labor of love, twice over. Some days we wrote to each other three times, now that is crazy. How did we do it? How did we have the time? I have no idea.

Now, looking and contemplating this humungous mountain of paper I see that it was far too much. What can I say--we got drowned by love. The temperance movement was right, there has to be control and limit, we went wild, crazy--we went far beyond that. Now we pay for being so greedy. But it was simply wonderful.

We are never the same, forever changing, but the same. I hope better like wine with age. Yes, we are no match within  the life span of the stars, however, our souls out reach , encompass and out live even the oldest of stars. Immortality is eternal! Thus we are eternal.

See this is the reason I so appreciate the present and remind myself continually of this. As with our love as well  as with our relationship, I have saved all; every word, every moment every thought, I am a hoarder of dreams, of omens--as it is precious , but most of all sacred. All  becomes the framework of memories that remain in our hearts which I truly believe we take along onto our next existence. Something that our soul forever remembers.

Now, I do believe the only thing that touch our hearts and souls counts, the rest is flotsam and jetsam. One needs to recognize all that which is important, that which is real  and that which is born from love. That is the great secret!

Now, where to start--I think I have to pray first for guidance to Our Lady--. Thus it begins.

"The minute I heard my first love story,
I started looking for you, not knowing
how blind that was.
Lovers don't finally meet somewhere.
They're in each other all along".

The Illuminated Rumi ―

I love you--my beloved sweet Oliver, my other self.

Suzanne
3 February/2013

Meine liebste

Oh how do I love thee? Hmm? In all of thy infinite

ways, my fiery Baroness. For behold, I wouldst

become jealous even of time itself . Indeed, my ardor

cannot countenance so faithless a paramour before

thee, and as now winter fast approaches I would to

keep you warm within my embraces, letting not so

much as time betwixt our lips, my faerie rose of cold

and desolate lands.

 

Oh to behold yon flower of thy graces born in our

Lady`s infinite midnight burning. No flower wet with

teary dew can to thy lips their likeness bare!

 

-Indigo Olie Dragon

Edes Arany Cicukam from indigo

Did you ever know that you're my hero
And everything I would like to be?
I can fly higher than an eagle
For you are the wind beneath my wings.

 

Thank God for you, the wind beneath my wings.

 

And by the way, darling sweetheart....

 

Happy Birthday!

 

Isn`t it jusr wonderful to be so young as we still are?

 

Millions and millions of hugs and kisses to you, my

Zsuzsikam.

Wishing you a wonderful day.

-Your little wee Indigo 2008

You inspire me

You inspire me!

And that is about the biggest understatement the world has ever known. Why? Because you are the lotus crown in the infinite sky of my heart, and I love you so damn much that I get to feeling like Taz, who could express that love to you better than I ever could, being the Tazmanian Devil and all!

 

Woman, you are my life , and were you the very cup of death so still would I drink of you even unto the glory of the ages. Amen and amen.

 

With endless love to my love, my heart, my little dragon.

 

Kiss,kiss

 

-Indigo

For Suzanne

And where is my peace found? It is found in you, my love, my only twin-flame., my other self, my soul mate, my very breath-in you, who are the very blood that gives me life. You my heart, I will love longer than forever, for you are every blessing and every gift ever given to me by Our Lady, and forever shall we be truly wedded, for it was god Herself that brought us together again., and it was She, to whom we both are consecrated, that blessed our union and made it the driving force of my entire life. For your infinite patience and forbearance with my stubbornness and my melancholy and my turbulent soul and my ingratitude I can never in all the ages give due recompense. 

 

You who are my undying fire of immortal love , my impetuous Ram , my beautiful queen-you burn so fiercely in my heart that in you all things comes to their final perfection. You are my life, my strength, my faith, my religion, my hope, my every dream and aspiration, as well as its final completion and fulfillment in the estuary of god`s own heart.

 

Forgive me, dearest but I had to do this. Do you see? Ever since we met I`ve wanted the whole damn world to know of the love that we share. If only I could, I would write your name in celebration clear across the universe. I would do it in an instant. All across the universe is not enough, you know. That song alone just won`t cut it. It is your song, sweetheart, and the name that bears that should join the Beatles in serenading the deathless stars. When the Pleiadians finally arrive in their star-ships in 2012 they should be singing the praises of Leonard Cohen, with the haunting melody of a very very mysterious lady by a certain river, on their beatific lips. Was that lady really you? Nay...but you were and are and always will be the endless River.

Not even Shakespeare

Now even Shakespeare is put to shame...How exquisitely beautiful is this? Love you darling
...more than you will ever know!



I am called to embark on a journey- an adventure, I am called to live and breathe and think and feel and touch and taste and smell and hear and see the very highest and greatest that I can envision for the world and for myself at every moment- to live that vision in the flesh as the very truth of my being, with deepest passion, with utmost ecstatic intensity and with unfailing integrity- and then go to beyond , utterly beyond it, back to the ineffable existential from which all arose. And I want you to come on that journey of discovery. 



Yes, you! I want you to be there with me every step of the way as I take the road less traveled by, beyond the wildest and most rapturous conceptions of the imagination, and into that undiscovered country which is the height and the depth and the breadth of my immortality, my soul. Yes, you, my countess, my queen. Know that through your faith and belief you hold a key to my surrender. I would storm the very gates of Valhalla now, to wrest from the gods the very essence of dream- to plant the golden apples of magic and life within the heart of my innermost heart-yea, to live Christed, as my very Self, not as a follower of the universal but as that very universal itself, down to the last fiber of my glorified flesh. 



Come Suzanne. Let us wander far beyond the pale of the world. Let us harvest the light and weave it through like ribbons of glory throughout the fertile black soil of the earth. Only dream is real. Only power. Only love. The rest is not worthy of us. Let us quit it hence and fly into the empyrean which was ever our birthright- we who were born to dance amidst the stars, not grovel like worms before the ravening shadows of our unclaimed Being.



Aum



Sweetest love and kisses,



Olie

To my baroness

My baroness.....my Beloved, no rose could but blush for shame to be given so in love as to be crucified in rapture upon thy snowy breast, Oh forsooth, to die were bliss itself if only to die in you . To die? Nay my heart, to live , and like the Phoenix live again upon that mount none dare approach but I ...for tis the gate of paradise.



Oh my chambermaid! Off to bed with thee! Fly only to my arms this very night--that we of great Olympus a pyre for our passions make, well spent and dreaming upon the flood plains of eternity.



Your very own little
Indigo  O Dragon

My heart

Oh my sweet arany Quetzal.

My dragon queen,

I’ve been doing the bear thing these past few days.  You know…just rooting about for juicy grubs under rotted logs with my enormous paws, lolling about in the sun, chasing butterflies through fields of lupine and clover, crapping in the woods…and snout-fishing with my black, wet, schnuffle.  First though, only the bugs were biting.  But not even that could disturb my ursine equanimity.  I rested deep within prayerful silence.  I gave my heart unto the winds of heaven and in the rich flame-shadows of leaf dance on sunlight I sent my dreams into the depth of the cooling loam of earth where bear finds medicine roots and visions.  And so it was.  It has brought me into the presence of this delightful vista, grounded and refreshed.  In truth, I had gotten ahead of myself in my erstwhile enthusiasm—tempered now by purpose and the peace of knowing that my every headache is but a token of my  fidelity to God, and of Her undying, endless love and affection for me.   

And speaking of headaches….do you poor Torontonians still languish in the blazing sun?  Here there is no end to rain.  Meanwhile my once dear mother has gone berserk—is simply fit to be tied—and just about as comforting and as welcome within my consciousness now as any a mad hornet at a picnic.  In truth, I would be thrilled to be rid of the both of them, say until next Christmas, maybe?  After all, I have work to do, which work is play.  No time for sighs and groaning and the gnashing of the teeth of the fitfully damned and of the assorted lost in the outer darkness of cynical doubt.  No, I will have none of it now, and least of all from them. 

And besides that—I have been informed of the fact that my spider sermon contained entangled in its web of words an egregious Musca domestica.  To whit, twas Sir Walter Scott, not Shakespeare that I quoted, and quoted wrong, at that! For behold, where I said believe, he didst in truth put to pen and inkpot on the page, the very word, deceive.  Mea Madre!  Mea Culpa!  I don’t give a hoot’n holler though, so long as people get the point, if point there was one, which indeed there was.

So now, in the rain, amidst the clash of thunder…I will redouble my efforts.  All around me, the desert hills are blooming, the grasses like the kings of the earth, verdant as summer, waving golden crowns, bowing like wave crests in the earthen sea when the wind comes to undulate ribbon snakes up the steep slope of recumbent mountains.   We are the jinn of the clouds. 

Ah…my love, she threatens me.  Guess that means she wants to cuddle.  How then to write?  Oh bother, that!

I shall use her heart as parchment, my dreams as feathered quill, my song a light to guide her way.

Strange.  I had Quinoa porridge for breakfast, just after downloading my mail, and now—with apple-sauce, nutmeg, cinnamon and honey coating my insides…well, that isn’t at all peculiar, really. I am filled with this luscious, wistful, cloud-soft comfort.  That and an abrasive vigor occasioned, no doubt, by the yo-yo antics of my interior plumbing.  My folks are going out to dinner.  Oh joy!  The cook gets the night off.  That means, manly food tonight, namely--pizza and beer, of course.  I will hasten then from labor to refreshment.