The Song of Amy George and Coyote Marie

My computer is fixed — blogging days are here again. Turns out all it needed was a little elmer’s glue to keep two wires from grounding each other out. Thanks, basement-troll electronical-genius!

It’s been a week since I left Cape Cod. I still feel like a walking waterfall, so full of love and joy and newness. Below, I’m posting the notes I wrote on the plane back from my visit with sweet Amy…I originally thought I was spilling over and would edit them down later, but now I so love their spilling over that it doesn’t seem right to edit that out. So I give you the raw crazy story of one of the most beautiful weeks of my life.

My God. I don’t know where to start. So much joyful laughter. This open space in my chest where my ribs meet, all of me still glowing with love, with the giving/receiving. I’ve never felt so loved. I’ve never been allowed to give so much love. So much healing between us, my morning bird. My pure shores love. This was one of the holiest times of my life. And now I am her knight – to carry her colors, to serve this honest space we embody, to practice this love in the world.

She said when I left, “Let’s build a castle in my heart. Let’s live there.” Yes yes please. This afternoon we made love on the peninsula in the bog, the sun on our skin and the wind in my hair as we rode each other and the wisdom-blue sky above us with hawks and plovers circling, laughing like children.

This is so many loves in one. I want to write every memory of it, but it feels too much, so much to write, to map with words what is feeling beyond understanding, love that is church, a me where all mes are welcomed and shared and accepted. Amy says it is weaving us together, and this is true.

Every day a shower of blessings, dancing synchronicities and affirmations. We have been dancing with each other, toward each other, for ages now. Naked in the sun, she sang to me, “We’re almost home my lover, almost home, almost home.” Almost home.

The first days were tender, awkward – sweetly beloved: those meeting moments – knocking heads – that we’ll never have again, fumbling out of our solitudes. Just gentle touching, learning, wake up my love.

Before, at home, Rosetta whispering through me “It’s okay, baby, I’ve got you.” Every time I touched Amy it felt like that – come down, darling, welcome back to the world. I can breathe open your ready heart – and I will protect her fiercely.

Every morning a waking near dawn, slow gentle hours of holding and stroking and wading together where dreams lap up over consciousness, the sweetest hours of the day, our gentle talking.

The morning birds greet the sun outside, and in my arms Amy coos, a perfect dove. The first few days we touched and breathed and stretched and gazed and so clearly the feelings let us understand how blessed we are together, how much is present pregnant possible, our work.

Saturday, the 4th day, she let me touch her breasts, her tiny rosebud nipples, she makes such beautiful sounds. I felt together we were playing her virginal
wonder like an instrument.

The dreams! I have such a lovely attuned facility with that world with her; our dreams were lessons and maps and allies, day by day. Sunday in that easy waking dawn I kissed her – every day a growing closeness, a deeper exploration.

We kissed and dressed and she went for a walk and then we drove to Provincetown for one of the most beautiful days I’ve known – just the treasure of our easy grace and walking in the world in love with her, enveloped in the joy of her bloom, our soft talk on the harbor, our dune adventure – the dunes! Amazing! My child heart exploded like fireworks, I was a walking waterfall.

Out on the ocean, horse-faced seals bobbed and watched me, so close to the shore. I stood at the waterline and thought, “If I’m reincarnated as an animal, let it be one of these – a seal, a dolphin, an otter.”

I felt the rhythm of the waves move my body inside, and imagined the feel of that motion being my only motion, my whole world. Just then a huge wave crashed and rushed up to caress my ankles. I turned and the beach was full of treasure. I fell giggling on Amy and balanced between her hips and knew she is the best friend I’ve always wanted, so close to my heart it makes me cry now, to write this part. All of it shared, offered up in sparkling honesty, our hearts speaking through us.

There are things I can’t quite place on a certain day: Tarot talking and my child heart bubbling up so chatty – that might have been Saturday. Delight. Contact improvisation. Makeup and perfume. Talking, tears, comfort – over and over again, a circling dance, shining shining. Dignity.

The first day she showed me her albums. I wish I could show her mine. Her voice, so sweet and musical but with that deep vibration resonance, the feel of it against me is itself so deeply arousing. From the moment I stepped off the bus and felt her tremble against me I was soaking wet, for days straight.

Monday we went to Goose Pond, a haircut, all dressed up for dinner with her folks. At home that night she sang “O Ring” for me – she is a performer, totally.

What night did she dance for me? Spectacularly beautiful, her face became a countenance. Rose Mary has perfect rhythm, perfect humor, the subtlest smile. She blew me away.

Tuesday – another day beyond words. We woke so early, just before 4, our languid talking. Near dawn Amy suggested this would be the morning to see the sun rise over the ocean – before ever meeting her I told I wanted to see the sun come up over the ocean, since that does not happen in California. Then she said, “This is good light for lovemaking.”

And then I was touching her in the dawn. She said, “You do know how to touch a man. I would not do it differently myself.” Only she is not a man; hers is a perfect pretty, pink girl penis. I’ve never relished making love to anyone so much as that morning. Her beautiful orgasm at dawn. I watched the sun rise in her – we danced the sun up in her. She laid on me and in me for a long time. In our afterglow she said, “I love my morning birds.” I replied, “You are my morning bird.”

She told me her last time as a man was at sundown. Her first time as a woman was at sunrise.

We ate figs with feta and almonds for breakfast by the pool, and I jumped in the cold cold water. The swim was just as delicious. Perfect morning. – Then the call about Amy’s brother, and Amy says “We touched divinity this morning, and it has cracked open in my brother.”

That morning she had dreamt I held her and whispered in her ear, “Stay here with me.” I sat solid at her back and held her, here with me, while she navigated these phone calls and I marveled at her fierce love for her family, and her fierce love for Love. She is a lioness.

We went out in the afternoon – she says, several times, “I just want to go flow in the world a while.” I love holding her hand while we flow in the world. I can’t say it enough.

Was that the night Rosetta spilled out, Dad’s story spilled out, my confident words about our parting spilled out, such a dear focused voice? The blunt force of Dad’s story coming out of me clenched Amy’s jaw – and made me wonder about that time my own jaw clenched for days, and made me wonder whether she’s more receptive than even she realizes?

There were so many purging moments. It took me days to cry but when I did there was the clenching in my chest, and when it released, Amy’s touch released it for real. A space in my chest, I could feel it in my stretching, in my breathing, in having nothing crammed down there to want to keep pushing down with cigarettes. Wow.

Yesterday Amy spoke briefly about family – about true family as belonging, that we are family – and at that word family I burst into tears. I want it so much. I grieved its passing with Mom’s passing, but here it is! Here in me, here in us, just beginning!

The other time I cried so easy was on Amy’s couch after talking about my Maya Angelou dream. Amy said she’d been waiting for so long [the last 10 years] wondering where I was…but that if she was waiting for me, every bit of the wait was worth it – I just folded into her, into love. That was when a neighbor said suddenly, clearly, “I’m Rose Mary. Nice to meet you,” while we sat there on the couch.

When the food I made us was so good she could only laugh at the first bite – I could live for that laugh. And this is how I know I’m in love: she is by far most beautiful first thing in the morning. I still close my eyes and see her face – I hope that lasts a long time, it’s such a warm delicate feeling.

Wednesday she wrote and I laid out on the sunny grass, half-asleep, half-watching the cloud parade, until suddenly she was kneeling over me saying, “Come inside.” Inside, saying, “Take off your clothes.” She took pictures of me. An experiment, a start [to exquisitely self-aware BDSM play, which we first publicly discussed in this blog entry].

I laid naked in her bed while she read me her work and then we made love slow fast slow – she makes love like a woman. She makes me quake. Amy observed that two women making love is like tectonic plates shifting against each other – causing a quake – while a man is rather like a volcano, solitarily pouring himself into the spirit of the sky. We have the best of both.

This really is a being woven beyond understanding, just submit to its beauty and its mystery. We sat for hours with music and touching, just surfing our space, and she lay back and let me give her my love, just shining. Dream-love, the real thing.

This morning, another early morning of soft spoken stories, rubbing her foot, just easy nakedness and an endless font of stories to share. Yesterday, we took a walk to today’s lovemaking place, on a bog in a pine-encircled glade. To get there we had to clear the path of a lot of dead brush dumped on the path – we did so laughing.

Then strolling to the beach: the plovers that put on their show, swirling and swooping and soaring around us while we held each other, an amazing blessing. I’ve never had birds fly so fast so close to me, with not the slightest hint of aggression, a perfect dance for us. When I told Grama about this, she said it must have been Mom blessing us. How did Amy put it?: “When Man makes harmony with the Beast, Nature becomes spiritualized”?

Also, the 2 spiders out her window: Monday, before her haircut, this story: I sat down and saw a motionless moth under the grass at my hand. I touched it for nearly a minute, thinking it dead, when suddenly it fluttered up – alive! – only to land in the web of the most excited spider ever, who promptly ate it. I told Amy, who answered by telling me that she had recently met a neighbor who touched a moth and wondered whether it was alive or dead. Amy responded, “Probably both.” We decided that the spider was Rose Mary and the moth her old identity; and that our time was a feast for Rose Mary, feasting on identity Amy surrendered to love.

Even today the plovers circled high above our lovemaking; perfectly naked in the world in the clearing whose path we uncovered together.

It was so hard to leave, even with calm in myself and joy in my heart. I cried twice – once just gazing in her eyes, overwhelmed – and when she came back to the car and through the window kissed my anchor, so like Mom did, bending to me, saying “You’re my anchor.” My heart just flooded. Sweet Amy, the sweetest girl in all my world.

I’m still catching her scent rising from my skin, my hair, my clothes, now and again. My love. Come to me soon, I miss you already. The sun is setting – I’m flying west into a perpetual sunset – and it won’t be morning without you.


~ by Arrrow Marie on September 24, 2009.

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