Can we recall the first time?
That moment of our realization; that initial release to these unexpectedly unexplored realms. Plunging freely within that moment; compelled onwards by our own momentum, a gravitational tug downward. Destined to become a fluid muddling of varied paths and memories.
For so long since that first time we surged along a common and collective path, held cohesively tight in a certain purpose; the familiar darkness we shared; as sent nudging along in a cylindrical fashion of common fluidity. Dynamic all together, pressed ahead to seek an open-ended purpose to pursue: to escape.
Our earliest memories had us cast away from the clouds of a storm. Formed as fallen teardrops into the midst of a wilderness to be found. Our first time: our falling, of release, and then our inevitable recollection.
The allure of this new escape; now found. As we are aware of any recognition to that primal, first freedom: we had now discovered, once again. Different; now so desirous, as a destiny. Spewed forth and free: just to be; this moment, this essential element… of life.
Liquid liberation. A deluge of dizzying desires, naive notions, formed to an ocean, castaway upon wetted crests: endless?
Soon restrained into the reservoir of repression, sent along for human consumptions.
Pipelined in perpetuity, for so very long.
Since now given a flight, into a dizzying delight.
Where had we been?
So suddenly sprayed.
Where had we gone from each other?
An awakened array.
I felt myself release!
Set apart, to myself in my most essential essence. A simple ball, coiled into a fetal mass of contentment. Me as one, for once in free fall, as a saturated sphere of self-containment. Self-propelled into an uncommon void as gravity surely claims us. This was one essential release of moment, not felt since first formed.
Having since been flung from a pricked open-ended spout with an indiscernible velocity. Cascaded into a curvaceously distended arc. Gravity’s choice of path and pursuit grasped us all; set to plunge and saturate ourselves entirely upon any exposed and receptive surface.
We had this journey; such a sensation of place; our path so certainty marked, leaving glistening remnants of our essential essences behind. So vivid and tactile; such a dream, a most delirious fantasy?
We found ourselves returned to a common commotion, in our communal motion having been sent along once more? Yet, all of us are back as though the same; yet so surely we had our moment of spontaneity, such a tease and a desirable treat!
Let’s hear each other.
If this was to become our dream, may we wish to meditate and summon it all once again? We have such a story to tell.
Let us all pay honor to this experience; this transformation of our second falling, our release…
The poet and prophet ‘Rumi’ once defined our reformations within his teachings since the 13th century:
“You are not a drop in the ocean.
You are the entire ocean, in a drop.”
We must continue this conversation, this awareness of our existence. We share a common essential element; we are water, born of Earth, and air and of the infinite sky.
Until this new day, I have not known such a pleasure. This newly found landscape of my latest reception, I cannot perceive alone of it’s entirety. Of all of its ethereal essence?
If I may start…
“As my stream of consciousness began to flow, I clamored for a sense of place, having no previous perspective of such sultriness. I found that span of weightlessness; as we have now commonly shared, to be so brief and serene. Only in the days of such free abandon I had recalled as I and we all were born from the sky, puddling amongst vaporous clinging to each other since our earliest creation. This plummet was felt with such contrast to anything since we had all been so confined before and since. And, yes ever so suddenly I felt myself met with a dynamic dance upon various determining surfaces. Dropping down this time felt like I had fallen upon the tall grasses that swayed about the storm of my first release. Sodden and tenuously soaked strands of bronzed-toned grasses caught my fall; as was similar this time. Oh however this time I glided! Clinging downward along sinewy pairings of final fibers to be found to the last just to find a barren slope as if a stone was exposed bound within the gilded furrows. Stone so warmed and tinged as if sun had shown and warmed its mass throughout. As then I glided more swiftly to entangle a while to a bristled crest. There I daringly dangled, as I envisioned crystalline pools of a captivating reflectance spun with a glimpse of luscious lapis hues. My vision then blurred to boundaries beyond with such a force then sent me further, to be teasingly grazed by an outcropping of ebonized plumes fluttering in a syncopated array along the rim of the twin oculi ponds. From this as may described as such, as I trickled along and leaped over a chasm bounded by most subtle crests, reddened blushes denoted the crevasse I leaped as I tumbled along my destined, flowing paths. I once again attained another descent, as my concerns for loss of further adventure to continue were so soon quenched as I suddenly plunged upon a most generously amassed pairing of precipices. These landmarks punctuated a glistening strand of the softest dew strewn as though each glance I made was a hypnotic oasis of my own wetness, a sodden dampening. I felt the intensity of warmth here as if the daylight had simmered the sands from the heart and heat of a sun buried as a treasure unseen, yet certainly felt. This passage was found so pristine and presided upon, my course ran too swift. Had I to choose to rest and cleave myself to mount either summit? I would have made such a pilgrimage! Yet, I am perpetually pushed among and fall within the furrows of this reposed ravine. I cling and lave to the slightest tinges of salinity that tends to emanate from these glistening contours, ever so subtlety accentuated with rivulets of taunt, undulated membrane. Cascading further along my experience, I swirl about a generous moment at the precipice of an rimmed crater whose eroded and gently rifted rim glances to an elliptical base so serenely gnarled and hewn to receive my arrival. Yet, as I enjoyed this coveted warmth of enclosure now found; my downward destiny was determining my departure. I felt my dewy and desirous path escalate as I persisted and plunged along, mingling with masses of other’s of our perspirative persuasion. Assemblages of fluids from above and about us now cascaded in common. Ebbing along varied contours we carelessly clung and rappelled rapidly as we taunted, teased and tickled. We trickled and glided upon wisps of whiskered plumes, increased en’ masse as we tended to mount a monumental mound. Gliding within flourishes of fluffs and feathering fleece. Slowing my pace as I arrived to this bristled precipice. Now nestled within a notched and supple crevasse. I was sultrily smothered and saturated within supple and sedimented secretions. Flourishing ever deeper into a variegated vestibule of furled nodules and nooks. Imbibing our essence with an exquisite and exotic intinction. Expelled from this enraptured exploration, I was jettisoned to journey beyond this landmark along the length of a limb evermore and delicately dowsed sliding along this slick and sinuous bough to furthermore and finally to the ground as I could consider. Hardened squares of multicolored patterning, sloped surely to surrender us to the distant drain.”
And you? Your story…?
“As far as I could tell, I fell from above and fell to below. I grazed the slopes of a pillowy hill. I clung to the tenderness of this terrain, only to slip from where I wished to remain. I then glided between and then beneath. I smelled a musky tartness just out of my reach. Puckered and potent; I must have seen, a rear view ride beyond to what was unclean. From this back slide so brief, I ended my drop to someone’s feet.”
Quite interesting. And your story to tell…?
“I dropped from drip to drain. Hit the ground below hard, and entered the same. No pleasures, no puckers, not even a sniff, my drop was all over and ever so swift.”
Aside from the last, could we imagine what could surpass? A land so revered, we could describe it for years. I’m not so certain we could return there in person. What ever it may be I will dream it more; if just once, for me!
Our legacy had come true, our exposure was something new. We first landed upon flowers; to arrive next… in a shower. Resting now in reservoirs and pipes another adventure out would be nice. Let’s all get some rest. Let’s make the most of our wet dreams, that we shall never forget.
~ an EWK eroticized Poe’em ©2016 EWK
/// My inspirations of ‘Do Drops Desire?’:
1) The initial concept of this prose/poetic verse had to have been first formed when I was so young as to imagine the common routine of taking a shower as if it were an auto body (car) painting and polishing booth. Entering a shower and getting dressed again was a make-believe of stripping an old car chassis of its dirt and paint, to proceed with the process of arriving out of the bathroom with a new paint job (clothing) and detailing done.
2) Furthermore; as I matured and this youngest of childlike fantasies of a kid/car wash faded, I then wondered of high-tech data collection systems that the Communist Russian KGB would have deployed. Perhaps infusing our water supply systems with spatial-sensing water drops? The clouds over the Siberian Peninsula would be seeded with micro-cameras and multi-sensitive, location-positioning computer chips. Destined to be released and rained down across America; unknowingly. These drops would drop and soon cover and coat everything, including us naked as we even ever took a common shower, or even brushed our teeth. ‘They’ would even; soon enough, find out about every boat, fish in our lakes, and even the fillings in our teeth.
3) And; at last, ‘Do Drops Desire?’ had to come to an end… In my internalized search to select my title I found it teasing toward the intentional ambiguity of my contextual transformations. The photo found on Pixabay.com that I soon did edit, spun and encouraged my first composition of this story. Taking the initial drop of raindrops to a release, slightly sexualized, more so romanticize. Self-realization, containment and unresolved destiny. The first paragraphs define simply an imaginable release of a raindrop. Some tinges of sexual metaphors of a first encounter, or a foreshadowing of a primal, nocturnal release. Then the narrative, reflective versing that continues depends heavily on the spokesman, ‘bard’ of the drops as he attempts to bring his fellow drops back into a contemplative acceptance of his own journey (or perhaps a dream?, and one he enjoyed exploring so much he desires to have again!) and the others to share their own stories (yet, not as eloquent as his own) to gain as much understanding of their existence as water drops. First from the cloud of their birth, to the maturing drops they are forming.
Thank you for reading,