Instead I head (in my head), to platform 3 and 1/3 onto a train called Mantra. When I'm on it my body turns into a field of bliss. Like great sex only using Om instead of genitalia.
Meanwhile the sea is roaring like it’s hungry for my body to enter it again. Do I have a sexual relationship with η θάλασσα which is feminine in gender? No, quite the opposite. The cold water has a cooling effect, not a heating effect, which I have found to be useful these past few months.
Meanwhile the sea is roaring like it’s hungry for my body to enter it again. Do I have a sexual relationship with η θάλασσα which is feminine in gender? No, quite the opposite. The cold water has a cooling effect, not a heating effect, which I have found to be useful these past few months.
A few days ago I was sitting at a cafe in Nicosia watching a large spit BBQ being attended to by a white-grey bearded man. He was turning long skewers packed full of slabs of meat as fat spat and sizzled over the hot coals. Large swathes of smoke were fuming out into the street. Perhaps my body and yours will one day sizzle on the hot coals of our love? Perhaps it would get steamy and would also involve being turned, like the weather or the spit-roast, whose strong lamb smell is wafting over to my nostrils. I’ve discovered that Cyprus could easily out-BBQ Australia or England. There’s just something about the attention and the quality of the meat perhaps.
My coffee is placed delicately onto my table by the auburn haired waitress who took my order. Orders are also being given by the Cypriot government, such as being allowed to go to bars but not being allowed to dance, including shimmying. Police were on hand to enforce this. This is an interesting echo of 1920’s USA where shimmying was also banned, albeit on the ground of being too salacious.
Speaking of the USA and salacity, I have been watching Dawson’s Creek, which has a lot of kissing, which reminds me of the sad fact I haven’t kissed anyone for over a year. I am keen to change this state of affairs, no one seems willing yet to assist me in this endeavour, though I haven't exactly propositioned anyone. Oh look, a thought train to lonesome town, I am stepping onto it without really noticing. No, no, just as it starts moving I step off again. I am the one stepping on and off these trains I realise once again, there is choice involved.
Earlier I passed a long white bearded, black robed priest coming out of an ancient church. It is said to be built upon where Lazarus was buried, after he died the second time and fled to Cyprus after being persecuted. God, I presume the priest knows, doesn't have hands to receive money, nor vocal chords to vocalise orders, like I did for my coffee to the waitress. Therefore he must pay God with his life and listen carefully to God's non-vocal voice through the written words of men travelling on a train, apparently bound for heaven. It is fascinating that it doesn't strike him as odd that only bodies that possess a penis are the ones God's voice was apparently revealed to.
Alas, we all have our different modes of transport to our various wanted and unwanted destinations. Please mind the gap between the train and the platform edge when you imminently embark. I am the gap (says the German spiritual teacher).
