The Book of Lillith

FINDING THE OBJECT OF DESIRE

i am swaying to a rhythm not my own

listening to voices unfamiliar

sorting out the energy

that comes my way

i hold out

patient

humble

& wait

for all elements

to align themselves

for all energy to blend

Restless

my spirit searches for nothing

space stretches endlessly

vague

unsettled

hovering in time

Soon a light

fills up the space

clarification

takes place

Until then

i can only be

confused

~ Fate ~

He first saw her at Ezekiels’s Hut. She was sitting by herself at a table in the corner. Her long, red curly hair was swept to one side. Her soft hazel eyes scanned the room quickly before she brought them down toward the table. She had a sad look about her, reminiscent of Gymnopedies by Satie. He wanted to go home and compose. Love at first sight.

When their eyes met for a second, he felt the animal attraction. She looked right through him, ambiguous, self-absorbed. As if he wasn’t even there.

The next time Julian saw Lillith, was at a Watermark Gallery in town. An intimate crowd had gathered inside, and he just happened to walk in, attracted by a large watercolor in the window. He got the feeling that he was unwanted. It felt as if he’d walked into a private celebration. He recognized Calvin Stokes, from the squash club. Calvin did not notice him. Nobody noticed him. He ran out bewildered, puzzled.

He saw her on and off at The Hut, but was never granted an opportunity to speak to her. He would stare at her. She never regarded him.

Then, one day she showed up at Sanne & Sean’s Yoga studio. She walked in with Brenda Stokes, Calvin’s wife. The entire class was a waste. Julian could not concentrate. He knew he was supposed to do most of the poses with his eyes shut, but they kept on moving to the left, where she was. She had that same sadness, but more controlled. He was overjoyed, his heart rate skyrocketed; he could not calm himself. This is destiny at work.

Not really happening today, is it Julian? Sean came over and rubbed his shoulders. They were tight. Dude, you seem locked over here, he said, why don’t you book a massage with Sanne?

I think I might Sean, Julian replied absentmindedly, eh… do you know that chick over there? nodding to the redhead on his left. Julian tried to sound casual, but Sean caught on right away.

Forget it dude, she is an ice princess. A scornful smile played on Sean’s face.

Pfffft… What do you mean, what is her story? Who is she? Julian grunted.

That, my dear Julian, is Lillith Moore. She’s an artist, a painter. Sean winked at her when he looked over, and she actually flashed a smile back at him.

Well, what’s her story?

Forget her dude.

Sean started to walk away. Julian grabbed him by the arm, eager to hear more about this beauty ice queen.

Don’t. It will kill you. You’ll never write another song again. Sean chuckled at himself and paced back to the front of the class.

BLIND DATE

The

heart

is like a candle,

longing to be lit.

                            Torn from the beloved

                           it yearns to be whole again,

                          but you have to bear the pain.

                          You can not learn about love.

Love appears on the wings of grace.

~ Rumi

Bless the valet service. It’s way past seven when I arrive at ZenBar. I walk to the bar and quickly slide in an empty seat. My throat is shut tight. My heart beats so hard that I am convinced everybody can hear it. I blush. With my head down I try to control the adrenaline that pulses through my veins. Slowly, I catch my breath and look up. Nobody pays any mind to me, which after a while disturbs me. The place is pretty crowded, and for a moment I feel happy to be out.

I smell lingering aromas from dishes that whiz by, and immediately decide that I am still going to eat dinner here, regardless of Duncan Douglas.

I am daring tonight; a tight black skirt, little Prada boots, a deep orange colored blouse, buttoned way too low. Not too much jewelry, just a nice chunky ring my friend MJ made, modest diamond studs in my ear, my hair casually messy. I do not see Duncan. I am relieved and annoyed.

Holding a glass of Tempranillo, I turn around to absorb the ambience. The restaurant is visually stunning. It feels as if I am some place else, a foreign place like Morocco, Tibet, or Tangier. Ornate ironwork, with crosses in the center, separates and creates different spaces. Tapered metal bins hold clusters of lucky bamboo placed artfully so. Here and there various sized sculptures; the peaceful Buddha, Indonesian lions, and in the center a Nepalese sculpture of the Mahakala, to ease out negative energy, I’m sure. Candles are all over the place. Beautiful silk tapestries, with burnt Sanskrit designs, cover some of the walls. Other walls have projections alternating of the Buddha’s eyes, his belly, and his head. Very sharp looking. The floor is scattered with tables made of exotic Red Blood wood, and low leather chairs that I hope are easier to sit in than they appear.

Suddenly I spot Duncan. I blush instantly. He surely knows how to clean up. I hardly recognize him with his freshly shaven face, and pulled back hair. Attired in a clean pair of jeans, really pointy cowboys boots, and white button down shirt, he slightly turns me on. On his left thumb he sports a plain silver ring, which he twirls with his right hand. I notice a tattoo.

He’s sitting about three chairs over. Though he is in conversation, he’s looking right at me, mischief in his smile. I guess he knows who I am. What to do? I hold my breath high in my chest. Energies swirl around me, highlighting me, making me feel inhibited; I want to run home.

I wait for what seems like an eternity, when he finally wanders over to me.

I saw you today at my store, he starts, were you able to find anything to your liking?

I stare at him unable to utter a sound, curious to find out what’s going to happen next. The space between us, an ocean of thoughts, wild crashing waves.

I’m waiting for a blind date, he finally continues, but I think she stood me up. He quickly glances over the room one last time before he rests his dark brown eyes on me. My name is Duncan Douglas, by the way, I own Kundalini. He holds out his hand to shake mine. That was you this morning, right?

I am, uhm, … yes, that was me this morning, I shake his hand politely. uhm… Lillith Moore. I avoid his eyes, and quickly retrieve my hand.

I am your blind date. Didn’t Brenda tell you what I look like? I am stunned. My hands are shaking & starting to sweat. I try to sip my wine nonchalantly, barely able to bring the glass to my lips.

Oh, wow, no… actually Calvin is the one who told me about you, and he said that I would know you by the ruckus you’d stir up making your entrance.

Mingled sounds undulate. Music blaring, people talking, dishes & silverware clanging, here and there some one bursts into loud laughter.

A ruckus? Really? This shocks me a little.

Yes, but you snuck in quietly, and you were late! He went straight to my heart.

We sit for a while, letting this vexatious moment fill up with memories, of last chances, broken promises, missed opportunities.

So what were you doing at my store today? He reaches over and enfolds my hand again, giving it a friendly squeeze.

Honestly? This time I let my hand linger in his a while; a warm and inviting sensation flows through my heart center.

Yeah, honestly!

I guess I was checking you out. I don’t really like blind dates. Brenda urged me to go to the store and feel it out…

My voice trails off. I am ashamed of my actions. I can hardly look him in the eye. Automatically my hand eases out of his, searches for a piece of hair to twist. And for the third time this evening, I blush.

He laughs cordially. It breaks the ice. Aren’t we a little too old for that kind of behavior?

Yes, we are, I agree, and decide to keep my mouth shut, for now. I wonder what Calvin meant by the ruckus I would stir up with my entrance. I will have to call Brenda about it later.

I’m going to ask for a table, Lillith, hold tight okay, don’t go anywhere. The food here is amazing, and I promise you a wonderful evening. He winks at me and takes off to find the Maitre’ D, leaving me perplexed.

Someone who asserts the right to self expression, even in the face of coercion or convention, their stance should be viewed as a celebration of life…

The circle of moon brings me to a crossroad, where, lost under branches of trees, I look for a way out. Husky voices of night crawlers, phantoms of the night, validate the inky darkness. A continual pandemonium: echoes of this darkness bring out the light, forcing me to take reality as it is, and move on. The light gives me comfort and warmth, steers me clear into the pasture of colors; a spectrum so wide and large, eternity dwells on the mind. But a creaseless line reels me in. As always, reality gives perspective to this canvas of multi color and dimension. It is not easy being a free spirit.

The moon is nearly full, I’d say it looks very pregnant, about to give birth.

I can’t understand how my heart operates. I try hard to forgive & forget and live & let live. I try to move on. But on nights like this, I sit in my garden, look up at Sky, and wonder how I survived. I yearn to call the girls, but it is way past midnight. I feel lost and alone.

My date with Duncan was fabulous. It really was an epicurean delight. I let him order. The food made a colorful and delightful display on our table; sesame crusted tuna splayed out on a ginger-lemon grass vegetable salad, lobster tempura alongside an asparagus salad dripping in ponzo sauce, delicious Miso glazed black cod nested in wasabi mashed potatoes. Flavors exploded in my mouth.

When I began to lick my fingers Duncan grabbed my wrist. He took my fingers in his mouth and one by one he licked the sauce off, while looking at me with the most devilish eyes. I felt movement inside, a slight swelling somewhere.

For drinks we had Zen martinis; mint, grey goose, apple pucker. We spent hours talking up a storm. Once in a while somebody would recognize him, try to come to our table for small talk, but he shoo’ed them away with a slight gesture of his hand. His attention was focused on me. Do I recognize myself in the women this morning at his store?

When my napkin dropped to the floor, Duncan leaned over, grabbed it and laid it on my lap. The slight brush of his hand made a gentle sparkle slide up my thigh, released some where in that space. The moment floated in eternity, until the spell broke by a waitress at our table. I fumbled and felt foolish.

At night’s end, woozy from the alcohol, I was unable to drive. On Duncan’s insistence I left my car at the restaurant. He flagged me a cab, paid the driver and gave me a scant kiss on the cheek.

I’m sure we’ll see each other soon, I had a great time Lillith, thanks! A wink and he strolled away, leaving my response trail in the darkness.

Once I was home I took off my fancy outfit and put on my grey sweats. I scrubbed and cleansed my face zealously, and really took my time painstakingly flossing and brushing my teeth. Afterward I could not sleep. I rolled a joint and went into my garden. Looking up at Moon my heart began to ache hard.

I am so in need of some loving. Why did I shut down? What has pushed me so far out beyond the edge? I need to be more social. I vow to call the girls in the morning and make a date with them. I will go into the city and spend the day, maybe even the night.

The fact that Duncan did not take me to his house, or that he did not push to come to mine, is stunning me into numbness. It seems such a loosing situation with me, because if he had pushed me into having sex, I would be insulted, but the fact that he didn’t, makes me weary. I can’t sleep.

At 3 am I find myself rummaging in my studio, unable to paint, unable to sleep… restless. As much as I cherish my solitude, I’m now in dire need to connect to some one. Any one. How far have I removed my Self from others, how did I get so isolated? My old sense of injury swells inside me as I wonder why I constantly drive my Self to the extreme.

Early in the morning I call Nikkie. It goes straight into voicemail. Must be in class. I leave a message telling her that I want to have dinner with her and immediately dial Lucy’s number. That too goes into voicemail. I am anxious. A deep longing tears through my soul.

Nikkie & Lucy really got themselves together after we split from Eric. It had not been easy, and at first they were closed down, emotionally. But after a few months of Art Therapy, their resilience shone through and they bounced back with verve. Once we moved into this house, they began to have friends, and in no time were able to deal with the reality of things.

Not so for me. I envy their vigor. It is taking me ten years to get over Eric. I still harbor animosity somewhere, and it bubbles up on moments such as these. The fact that at my age I have to go out looking for love is ridiculous and pissing me off all over again. When I married Eric, I thought I was finally done searching for my soul mate; I was home. I never realized that soul mates could be separated once the connexion was made. I never thought Eric would let me go.

••

IMPENETRABLE

To hear the immense night,

still more immense without her…

~ Pablo Neruda

Julian left the yoga class disturbed. What the fuck did Sean imply? Never compose another song? I will write even more songs! I have to figure a way to get a date with this chick. A slight sense of obsession sliced through