A Meeting of the Selves
Mood Music: Joy in Repetition By: Prince and the New Power Generation (live)
What if you met a beautiful stranger in a bar? What if that stranger was the physical embodiment of you.. This piece is about the divine masculine and divine feminine engery seeking union- heavily inspired by Prince and the New Power Revolution’s live version of Joy in Repetition.
He sat at the bar taking slips of brandy that he didn’t remember the taste of after each swallow. He was tried … not physically exhausted, but something about his mind felt weary and old.
Nothing seemed new. Everyday was just a phonograph spinning the same worn record over and over again. He was about to ask the bartender for the bill so he could call it a night, but he felt eyes burning a hole into his back.
Almost fearfully, he slowly turned around and spotted Her. There she was, looking almost bored and delighted at once, committing to neither emotion.
She motioned a long red fingernail, beckoning him over. He floated over to her table effortlessly. This was a meeting that had been years in the making and his heart was nearly on the table by the time he reached her.
She silently motioned for him to sit and without question he pulled up a chair.
There was an energy field between them that was electric.
He bathed in the scent of her sweet perfume, as ebony eyes met ebony eyes. The desire to touch her was strong, but for every ounce of warmth she emanated, there was an underlining chill that keep his hands at bay.
Seeking to beat down the urge, he busied his hands with the task of finding a cigar and lighter in his breast pocket. Finally, he worked up the courage and spoke in a deep and raspy voice, “Who are you?”
She gave a half grin and purred, “Do you even need to ask?”
He considered the question and knew he did not. He knew her and knew her well.
“So why now?” he demanded.
“What better time than now?” She retorted raising a groomed brow.
He pulled deeply from his cigar and released a great cloud of smoke- she didn’t even blink.
“What do you want me to know then?”
She bit her cherry stained lip slowly and looked deeper into his eyes.
“You know what I want, what I’ve always wanted. You sit here so cavalier like you can’t do a damn thing about it.”
He swallowed her words hard.
“You know that-” He began.
“I know what?” she interrupted. “That you can’t give me what I need, what we need. What are you waiting on?”
She was fiery, yet appealing. He now knew how enticing the fruit on the Tree of Life must have looked to the residents of Eden.
“Now isn’t the right time,” he whispered, shaking his head with his cigar dancing between his teeth.
She looked down and traced the rim of her glass with a red claw. “You’ve been saying that practically all our lives. Where has that gotten you?”
Now she looked softer, childlike even.
Shame washed over his entire being as he considered her words. He looked at her and saw himself. The sad eyes, the rounded shoulders the permanent pout that equally shaped and spoiled her delicate features.
His pity was her pity. He wanted her with all his being, at the same time he wanted her to go away. Her high demands lifted the dusty sheet off of his own repressed needs.
“Dance with me,” he demanded appealing to her the only way that felt comfortable.
She did not fight back or deny him, she only took his outstretched hand and followed his lead to the center of the floor.
No music played, other than the synchronized beats of their hearts. She felt right in his arms- familiar. He pulled her closer and she sighed.
They moved back and forward to the lub-dub of their hearts and the pitter patter of their shuffling feet.
She was energy and electric. Surging him, filling his entire being. He was the conductive force by which she could travel. They needed each other. Together they were beautiful, intense, indestructible.
“What do you want?” he asked willing to give her anything in that moment. His lips at the corner of her’s, his body pressing close enough with her’s to nearly merge.
She dug her nails into the back of his worn suit, and with every ounce of her, with everything she was and wasn’t and could be, she bore a hole into his soul and pleaded “Love Me.”
It felt like the imaginary sultry song had ended, and he was back to his maddening rationale.
He released her and shook his heavy head.
She gave him a hurt and knowing look, turned her back, then disappeared out of the door.
He wanted to follow her, but his feet felt cemented to the ground.
He could only watch as she stood under the lamppost bathed in dirty yellow light. With her head held back, she let the rain sob her entirely, willingly.
Again he let the best thing he’d ever known walk out of his life and in his mind he heard a resounding: