Fire and Ice

28 Apr

Property of DarkRose Productions
Copyright 2014
By Julia DarkRose Ray
Julia 1994(Photograph of me taken in 1995)
The following post is quite long, but I can assure you that you will not regret the few minutes it takes out of your life to read it.

*I can not explain it, not with the words that I have at my command. I can not completely understand it. I can not prove it. I can not dismiss it. I can feel it with every ounce of my being. I can understand the psychology and the science behind it. I can not deny its power and its sway over my entire existence. What I can do and will continue to do until I breathe my very last breath of my miraculous life is to write it all down. I will continue to try and explain what is at this moment unexplainable. I will leave my legacy of words for those who come after me. I will never stop believing in this feeling, in this truth that I feel so very deeply, that comes from the darkest abyss of my essence. I will never forsake the truth that I know, that I have experienced. I will never forsake him, my husband, my devoted blood, the very reason for my unshakeable faith of what I can not explain in its entirety but what I can live, feel, and share with the world. I absolutely believe in the butterfly effect. I absolutely know with all that I am or ever will be that time is fluid and my path is not set in stone and my husband and I have always been together no matter what path I am living within the fluidity of time, of the universal continuum. I know without the words to completely explain that he always finds me and saves me…always. The words that follow are but a sliver of my truth.*

For my Husband (Devoted Blood)…

Flesh of My Flesh, Blood of My Blood

*The following is a true story*

Fire and Ice

My heart is racing. I am full of lights. I feel my beloved’s pain, a sharp instrument pressed through his skull, his left eye. Devoted Blood. I squeeze my hand down on the ice. It hurts terribly, a sort of burn. He starts to push my hand away–“Don’t,” I plead.
I start to cry from the pain of the ice on my right hand. It gnaws at me, it eats me.

I feel myself growing wieghtless and quiet inside my shell of anguish, his, mine. ‘Wait,’ he said to me.
I waited. I waited fifteen minutes by the chime of the kitchen clock. By now I have completely turned to ice. The core of me, my groin, my breasts. My stomach, my heart.

I have finally removed my hand from the freezer and I am walking back to my love. I open the door of his sleeping place.
I feel very tall (which I am not), and feel like I’m floating in the air. I see his chamber with its bare plastered walls, the bed, and Devoted lying on it. He is rigidly immobile. He tells me, “Even in the midst of my pain, you are all I can see and think about, you are still perfection–”I cross the bare floor, floating, and stand above him. My braids have somehow come undone, and black hair showers over me.

I take hold of his left hand and pull it away from the most beautiful face I have ever known. There is no mark on him. His face is only hard, clenched, a stone. He does not resist me. He says to me, “You have already eased my pain by simply existing.”
I put my right hand, frozen, against his left eye, forehead and temple.My beloved screams. His whole body erupts into motion. I cry out too. I clamp my frozen hand against him. I force my hand to remain on his face, which is like furnace heat.

The world seems to have cracked.

Then I feel a hurt worse than before. The pain in my love has come into me. Into my hand. I am kindling. I am on fire. Now it has extinguished.I feel bruised, perhaps smashed, but I continue to sit on the bed. A band of flame still circles my right wrist. It is my husband’s hand. He is looking at me now.

His eyes are such a pale shade of hazel they are nearly white.
He says, “What did you do?”

“You said–ice.”

He says, hoarsely, “You can heal and save as well as devastate.”

“No, it was the ice.”

“Once in a hundred or so years,” he reveals, “it comes like that. You are a true healer my Lamia. So many claim that title but it is only a label they use to make themselves feel better.”

“Is it better?” I ask. “Are you all right?” Then I start to cry (he hates to hear me cry), I try to stop but cannot. His pain, my pain, has morphed into emotional pain, a sweet release.

“It’s gone. You took it. What did you do with it?” He lifts my hand and turns it over. My palm and fingers are burned blue, and bleeding. “Your hand,” he says, “your writer’s hand.” He puts both of his hands over mine.

It hurts like fire again. I do not care. “Don’t leave me,” I say to him.

“At the gates of the abyss,” he tells me, “there you are, Julia in her long black hair and flawless porcelain skin.” He keeps my hand in his left hand, and reaches up to me and pulls me slowly down.
I am laying over him, my lips on his. He kisses me softly but urgently. I kiss him back. I kiss his mouth until his mouth tenses and takes mine. I put my arms around his neck, my live hand and my dead hand. Suddenly I draw back. Lift off my dress
like a wreath, and reaching behind me, clumsy from the burn of the ice, undo my brassiere. My white breasts are full yet high, firm, with budded petals.

“You don’t need to seduce me,” he whispers, I’ve belonged to you since before time began.”

“Please,” I beg.

The tears upon my face are like splashes of gems. My eyes are wide and black and crazed with life. My savior, my husband traces my breasts with his hands, then with his lips. I sigh. I clasp his head, the mantle of dark hair, holding him to me.
He lowers me down, until I am beneath him. Now he strips both of us, until we are equally exposed, naked and glistening.
His body is tawny comapred to my white flesh. He strokes me. I cling to him. The entry of his flesh into mine is harsh and savage.

“You’re hurting me.”

“Yes.”

I don’t care. I want to die. I want to die for you.”

He kisses me, moving inside of me, the pain like a cathedral built up toward the heavens, arches and pinnacles, bronze and air.
I turn my neck.

“Drink me, my blood, all of me. Please. I want you to.”

“Hush,” he says.

“I love you,” I cry, “don’t leave me. I love you.”

He cries out, as he had in pain. I look and see his eyes and in the depths of them, as if in polished mirrors, the ages of the earth, truth and eternal love, fire and darkness.

~Finis

For My Devoted Blood

Oh, could you view the dark melody of every grace
And the ethereal music of his face,
You’d drop a silent tear;
Seeing more harmony
In his hazel eyes
Than now you hear while
imprisoned in your daylight fire.

When I lie tangled in his hair,
And fettered to his eye,
The gods that wanton in the air
Knows no such paradise.

Stone walls do not a prison make,
Nor iron bars a cage;
Minds innocent and quiet take
that for a hermitage;
If I have freedom in my love,
and in my soul am free,
angels alone that soar above
can never enjoy such luminous liberty.

If to be absent were to be
away from thee;
Or that when I am gone,
You were truly alone;
Then, my husband, my Devoted Blood,
might I accept pity from the tornado and stabbing wind,
or swallowing wave.

Without you, my love,
There is no me.

True love, our love, is a durable fire,
in the mind and heart ever burning.
Never sick, never old, never dead,
from itself never turning.

I love you beyond all my breaths, beyond all my passions, beyond all life. Our love is so very much a precious, priceless, sought after, by all the world love…to let go would certainly be my true death.

I love you, never doubt, for even the span of a single breath, that you are my everything.

Oh how you love my lips
when they are wet with your sex
and red with wicked desires.

Amongst all the regal beauties of the bowers,
you, my love, ache for only me.
So sticky sweet I am, you suck the coital honey
from my dewy bowl,
and intoxicatingly mad,
with wild, delirious dark bliss,
within my unholy grail,
you ,my perfect dark angel, yields, to me
your very soul,
and drinks in my bloody kiss.

I let down my silken tresses of blackest night over my milky white shoulders and open my creamy thighs over you, my beloved…

Oh beastliness! the raptures
of this night!
What fierce convulsions of
fiendish delights!
In each other’s arms embraced,
We lay confounded, and dissolved.
Hot bodies mingling, garnet juices blending,
darting fierce and flaming kisses,
plunging into boundless hellfire bliss.
Our bodies, and our souls
engulfed in a crimson blaze.

Enslaved in your wolfish charms,
I crush you, my true love in these velvet arms
and make you destroy me…utterly.

You fire my blood with untold desires,
your kisses, razor sharp,
upon my lips and limb,
sends my senses reeling and pulses
swimming in the savage river of our sanguine abyss.

Oh darkest rhapsody,
cherished absolution,
sweetest-rapture past expressing!
We melt together in
perfected serenity,
breathing our soul into the other with each
midnight kiss.

Then suddenly, with a brutal, passionate,
enshrined caress,
we draw completely into one another,
flesh of flesh,
blood of blood,
one spirit.
Smoldering still with blasphemous hunger,
we sink into the shiny earth
our blood-soaked bodies aflame,
with a spell-binding happiness
of which we cannot name…
‘Twas pain, ‘Twas pleasure,
‘Twas infernally intense.

Swift rivulets of the dark fire have found
their way and bound our hearts.
We know not night nor day, nor life, nor death, nor aught that foolish mortals know.
We only know that we love
each other so…

We sleep no more. We are wide awake.
From dusk to the stained glass rays of dawn,
amongst roses dripping red
upon some muddy hill,
we share with each other our unearthly dreams
of ebon bliss,
only to find our ruddy mouths all
melted in a fiery, ruby-soaked kiss.

~JDR

*Thank you for reading that which I can not fully explain.*
**This is the very first image DB (Devoted Blood) ever saw of me. He loved me before he even knew what I looked like. This photograph was taken in 1995. :-)**

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