The Longing

Would that I could quell this restless longing, it will not leave me be.
Like a stormy sea it rises and falls, pushing me far beyond the ken of land. In truth, I have been so long without, I cannot aver its actuality. I know not whether I would even recognize my own landing, since sands are just as shifty as the sea.

Hanging above me in silent benevolence, the moon illuminates my intemperate journey, describes an erratic path through this swell of inchoate desires. She is cool, remote, unmoved by any appeal; no longing disturbs her mild countenance as she gazes down through mist and spray to the teeming souls of earth.
Above, not among, she smiles at me. I know that I am animal, not celestial, and yet I am. Both.
The gravity of knowing pulls at my molecular bonds, rattling my heart in my chest and the thoughts in my head. It does not rest easy in my body.

I believe that enlightenment is the integration of disparate forces of material and numina, but to achieve it I needs must put aside my desire. Desire is sticky and clings to my fingers, it is beautiful and sad, lilting and radiant, and I can resist all but temptation.
That is a lie, I resist temptation at every turn. So deeply that my muscle memory has forgotten how to accede, though my heart remains a wild beast banging against the bars of its cage and roaring to no one. I muffle it as best I can with shrouds of circumspection while the roaring in my ears grows still deeper, a vibrato note that tingles in my teeth and fingertips.

Little beast in my body, lie quiet. Rest with me in this sea of stars until we come upon a welcoming shore, until the gentle murmur of earth ripples softly over us, until the breath of bird wings fills the silence and joy substantiates.
And then be free.