Through it all, there had to be pleasure, arousal of the senses. To charm the serpent into a dance and feel it rising through our bodies was the key to heaven.
In its most basic form, it was a summons to dance, to make music, to sing, to listen and to love.
Out of it, we created a theology that mirrored the deepest reaches of human consciousness, with all its hues, shades and nuances. We called on the Yezidis, the Zoroastrian priests, the Sufi mystics, and on the Gnostics. They still beckon us out of the narrow enclosure of our understanding. Having the gnosis, the knowledge of God, the knowledge of the one, means knowing the binding energy that brings all beings together in the same song, the same dance.
To be whole, we have to be in harmony with the universe. The Gnostics, whose knowledge of God was not written down in the New Testament, but preserved in coded phrases and cryptic sayings, knew that to reach the one, the all, the unifying energy, we had to be one with ourselves.
We were all carried in the stream of ideas, concepts, and experiences. The dance was frenzied, the music intoxicating, and the bodies warm pressing against one another.
She moved back. “Let me play for you.”
She picked up the flute, and with her other hand, she reached into a small pouch hanging from her waist. She withdrew a handful of beans, dropped them into her mouth, and blew into the flute. I was awestruck by the dexterity of her fingers and the strength of her lungs. She was a blustering storm of breath and sound.
She stopped, wiped the moisture from her mouth, and placed the flute back on the table. She sat down next to me and grinned.
“I am a freak.”
“No, no, you’re beautiful.”
“I mean to say I am different. I can make myself cry, just like that.”
She rolled her eyes back in her head, spread her arms out to the sky. She opened her mouth, then shut her eyes, and single tear fell down her cheek.
"That's a neat trick," I said laughing nervously, feeling my own eyes beginning to water.
She raised the flute to her lips and began to play an old song.
"When the master plays, then I play; when the master sings, then I sing."
She lowered her flute, and we both started to cry.
She leaned into me and kissed me. She smelled like a garden in the midday sun. Her hands slid down my neck and into my shirt.
"You are the first man I've ever loved," she said.
"I am the first man you've ever loved," I said pulling her close.
She kissed me again. Her lips were wet and hot.
We were in a small room, she on her bed and me on the floor, our bodies intertwined. She had unwrapped her scarf, and her hair fell over her shoulders and onto the bed.
I closed my eyes and smelled her hair. She had wild strands of red and black, and the smell of lavender and sage. I kissed her neck and ran.
The Big Twist
I created this story using AI software called Sudowrite. You can develop text by working together with the AI to generate a story. Only the bold-italicized words in the story are my own, the rest were written by the AI. I began the story with a snippet that I had published on twitter, then I used the AI to generate the next part, and so on until we had finished the tale. Fascinating and spooky stuff! It actually mimicked the way I write. From this day forward, you can never be sure if I wrote the piece or if an AI familiar did the deed. Welcome to the future.
Image by @litguru