Bending the fabric of space, time, and memory

Storms roll in over mountains and sea create

Orgasms in the Sky

“Dynamic clouds – the whole sky is an enormous wet orgasm,” I posted on Facebook back on Wednesday the 31st of March 2010.

Three friends, all women, responded:

PPB: “love it……perfect……..”
GVH: “I did not quite see it that way 😜, but yes it was very dynamic.”
JAG: “Goodness William, I want what you’re having”

My house had burned down, and all I could do today was to look up and see orgasms in the sky.

Storms rolled in from the southwest. Storms pushed in from the western ocean, flowed east over the mountains, smashed together over the inland sea, and blasted Seattle with atmospheric orgasms.

For a time I was in a men’s group designed to meet weekly for half a year. I supposed we were an odd mix of mythopoetic, therapy, and trauma-support group. We wrestled with what does it mean to be a fully realized man in our 21st Century world? Where did we as individuals move or stay along so-called continuums of straight or gay or something else, or parent, partner, child? What did being masculine or feminine even mean anyway, especially these biochemical reactions and neuroelectrical signals in our animal bodies labeled, or mislabeled from the perspective of physics, as dual forms of “energy?” What degree of free will did we already have? Versus biological robots steered by our genes within life-supporting ecosystems down in a planet at the the bottom of an atmosphere?  Isn’t nurture an aspect of nature?

After all, isn’t everything we experience merely what our minds interpret from what our brains perceive and filter from our biological senses? Senses limited by the uniqueness of our species buffered by a magnetosphere and evolving within the biosphere of a small planet third from a yellow star? Not to mention an ecosystem our species are so busy destroying as if we are addicts who cannot stop injecting ourselves with the psycho drugs of instant gratification, apathy, and profit?

What poetry speaks to us now as the world ends? What songs did our ancestors sing? What songs of beauty and grace were once sung by masculine warriors in touch with their own hearts and vulnerabilities, and can we leave war and struggle behind to evolve? Or must we elevate them with us? What drums shall we play tonight? What fires shall we light? What tears shall we shed? What do we love? And what the hell is consciousness? And what do we do next in the wake of divorces, job losses, struggling businesses, dying parents, lost investments, and wayward children? What do we do next to accept the way things whether we like them or not? And to forgive ourselves as we forgive others, to love ourselves as we would love another, and to sit or stand up with backbone to challenge those hurting and breaking people?

All such inquiries fell away as we gathered atop the steep, grassy bluffs of Richmond Beach Park in Shoreline, Washington. There the land cascaded down to the shores of Puget Sound and the Salish Sea. Once upon a long time ago people would gather on these old hillsides to watch decommissioned ships scuttled and set afire in the shallow bay below. These derelicts were burned so the metal could be recovered and reused. One of my brothers in mystery and art brought out a frisbee to toss back and forth out past a tall, lonesome madrone tree. The others played a wild, sloppy fun game. I made myself catch and spin the plastic saucer back, but I stopped. Had to stop. Had to. Just had to. For the bark of the madrone tree glowed so tumescently red and the heavens were about to cum.

Turned around atop these grassy bluffs to stare up into the sky. The whole world churned with erotic intensity. Oh, I felt so alone and yet such a small, wonderful part of the greater whole of All. Felt…electric! The world engulfed me as storms roared in and darkness fell as a rain  of mighty hammers turned loose from Thor in the sky to bang upon the anvils of Terra Oceanum.

God and Goddess knows I felt so divinely horny! The urge to mate felt both focused and overwhelming. So primal! And thus so divine! So I opened my arms wide into the storm to surrender into the bliss of it all and soar…and a frisbee wobbled on by. It spun away, and was driven by the wind into the ground. Gravity yearns for all things.

Grassy fields atop the bluffs looking south and southwest towards Seattle and beyond. Richmond Beach Park, Shoreline, WA, the last day of the third month of the year 2010 C.E.

Years later, however, these images of orgasms in the sky don’t look as orgasmic as I remember them to be. They seem more as if I sought to fill a trauma-carved voids with dramas greater than my own. Then memories of being there returned with the wind wrapping around me as my bodymind-heartsoul felt embraced by all of the elements in a polyamorous moresome. The love was deep, broad, and powerful. Felt both urgent and relaxed. Life is messy as birth, sex, and death. Precision is fuzzy with entropy. Keep on practicing the practices of acceptance, forgiveness, and love, tho. No matter what. Take a stand for love with sword in hand. Nothing is forever, yet everything is.

William Dudley Bass
Wednesday 31 March 2010
Tuesday 5 November 2019
Woodenville/Seattle, Washington
USA
Cascadia
Sol

Copyright © 2010, 2019 by William Dudley Bass. All Rights Reserved by the Author & his Descendants until we Humans establish Wise Stewardship over and for our Earth and Solarian Commons. Thank you.