Have we forgotten … a boy appears , a boy with the stain of love marked with pale ink blue on his forehead , the aftermark of a Jerusalem Prince , a boy from the mountain that clasps the sky , a boy with magnetism bringing forth creatures from underground tunnels of hibernation . . . an invisable , natural force exerted onto Cemetary Road with no dead-end where he too travels with the ” anima-mundi” , the world soul connecting all living organisms on the planet . This boy of pure love abides close with Jack . The fourth peregrine falcon leaves the roof of Jack’s home to follow this boy until his return on the day when Francis completes the last page , intentialy left blank , of her third novel .
He has not only been here , always still like the surface of the deep sea , since that profound day Jack picked up the hand of Francis telling her how beautiful he found it , but a very long time before… before Jack read “Old Yeller” , before hiding whiskey bottles in dog food bags , before passing people sitting on porches in folding chairs , riding fast his motorcycle in the dark , before listening to guitars speaking to him in human voices , before smiling at the older woman with long grey hair as she passes him at the Bliss Festival , a look shared in her eyes he never forgets , a foreshadowing of “focus half asleep ” for a future dream . And he exists here and there , there he is a shining Mars above as the moon follows the sun down . Francis can sense him , this boy , this skygod , as if he were the star at a theatre where the spirits of actors from the past hang out looking for bodies to speak through , his scent earthy , passing as if turning in his sleep , untitled like a thousand butterflies . Does wisdom have a scent , a field of musk overturned from a stone rolled away ? Three years previous , before loving Jack , Francis saw a fluttering from the corner of her eye when Jack entered the door of the shop she worked in to hang his delicate glass wind-chimes in the window , the roughness of his hands an anomaly . A large hand , wide , with a deformed finger , a reminder of an ugly scar on a beautiful girls face , that same allure of beauty within sadness she knew so well . And now , on this day in March , when the solar eclipse and the spring equinox are falling together , listening to love songs all day with a blush on her cheeks , she walks along the dirt road where once again the mink comes from beneath the wooded earth , outgrowing his crowded family of the long winter where the scene is black and white . Jack should be coming home soon from Traverse City . She ponders , looking for the dust cloud from his truck .
A strong man is naked and honest , unafraid to be desperate , his heart torn out but still beating . This is Jack , fearless , with hands taking the intensity inside of him to create sunbeams in the wood , the tumbled glass , the hand carved boxes , the jars of syrup from the tapping of maple trees , an amber gold of silk threads woven into a Kings robe . The sun will soon be attacked by some mythological creature , perhaps the Jaquar or the Lynx , with a roar roaming even after complete darkness when the moon will completely block out all the Suns light for two astounding minutes in the Faroe Islands of the Danish Kingdom . Who is this skygod , this creator , sustainer , illuminator ? What exactly happened on the Mount of Beatitudes when the people of Israel asked Issa (Jesus) how to pray to the Solar God ?
” Oh Creator (Abwoon) , the one who wills life to be . Who fills all the worlds with Sacred illumination . May your Holy Light illumine us . Let us be liberated from that which keeps us from our true destiny . For yours is the will to be , the Power to live . It is your Celestial song that beautifies all that renews itself from age to age . Amen ” ( the original tone is a mantra call spoken in Sanskrit , the language was Aramaic , the language Jesus spoke )
” You have the most beautiful hands ” , Jack calls out playfully rolling down his window .
” Can I call you my boyfriend now ?” , Francis responds with amusement .
” Quik , get in , we’ll go for a ride down the back roads to Empire Beach before the sun sets “.
The ghost that first travelled with them from Heartache Avenue has disappeared … the beautiful boy with a kiss on his forehead is there instead , the scent of birth and death , the scent of incense and myrrh , a Holy cloud surrounding as the little Hawaiin figurine on the dashboard dances on and on …
Note : photos by Denise Thomasin Photography