On the edge of everything is a woman so rare that to even glimpse or breathe the same air would be a testament of your courage. They’re called border dwellers, dangerous seductive things. Red robes falling off like blood soaked waterfalls, sharp silver tongues.
Can you hear her voice in the wind, how she calls to you? A song of sweet and terrifying things that dances across the dark watered expanse of the unknown, not a lullaby, a song that wakes you up, beckons you. Where oceans move by monsters in the depths, the further you go out the deeper, darker and bigger they get. But the greater the danger the greater the beauty.
Can’t you feel it? Of course that’s how this works, the blood of the monsters you fear is the price of admission into her arms. You will never meet one unless you go to where the waters are darkest, black like space, but that deep darkness will be lit up with intersecting constellations of shared understanding of pain and wisdom if you can only get to the other side of the expanse.
Problem is most never meet one, you can get fragmented out there, more common to see limbs floating about, disembodiment, people becoming the monsters they’re fighting in the unknown. Nothing below your feet for too long changes a man, you just become the kicking, forget there’s anything else. Start drowning in nihilism, hatred, lust, you become the very darkness you swore to fight.
For the few that make it through, pull their limbs onto shore, there she is, there’s that song. Like some sort of warm wet fever dream, hot shining tears of “I understand” washing the blood off. But the thing being loved is not the same thing that started on the journey, muscles like mountains carved from war, fear eaters, butterfly stomach acid, look at you all jagged and lovable.
On this shore where what you thought would be collapse becomes expanse. And just like the lonely waters, you learn that beauty takes just as much courage as danger. Because she loves what you are, and what you are now is a thing that fights. So after she’s kissed your wounds, she’ll tell you to rise. And while you’ll feel the pull to go back to the comfortable known, it’ll all just look like rot from that shining shore, she’ll whisper to you “You are bigger than that”. Because that’s what they do. How they love is to beckon, they love you into continuous becoming. So you’ll turn your back on the ocean of what was unknown now transformed into known. Basking in a paradoxical shared ineffable understanding, you’ll begin to move towards the new unknown, only this time not alone.
These border dwellers love through truth, consume vulnerability. They feel like altars for your shame, pain, and fear to be burned in the fire of love. Rib cages transformed into ladders for the climb to heaven, spines straightened into weapons, tongues sharpening tongues into a linguistic structure of ascension. Existential execution, a religion relentless in the pursuit of truth through courage. Women ferocious as they are beautiful, elegantly dancing and playfully holding that power of danger and beauty as weapons to transform that infinite blackness of the unknown into what is good and holy with you. Their love is not a place, it’s a journey, starting at the intersection of all that you were, all that you are, and all that they know you will become.
The consummation of this love is the wading forward together into that dark night, the new shared expanse of the unknown. Making love to rage, the way being lit with the flicker flashes of integration, shared purpose, and interlinked constellations. Your symbiotic shooting galleries of stars tangoing in the night. Pretty shamans dripping in picture perfect violence, rising like the sun, dancing to synchronized beating hearts on the horizon of continuous unending becoming.