Hours and Ours: A Hex Lesson

This  quote by Audre Lorde has been a favourite of mine for a long time, and I plan to have it etched into my stone headboard (also known as my tomb/head-stone), someday.

chalkboard
Your homework is to orate this every time you cross a threshold.

It could not have come more from the core of my being than if it had come from the core of my being. And so, I believe it did, somehow, come from the core of my being: which implies that the core of my being is a shared erotic space– one I share with A. Lorde and one I share with you, Dear Readrrr.

Today’s lesson, then, is that to teach and to learn is ONE single process; it, teaching, is always and in all ways learning, a process experienced intimately and cooperatively by teachers and students. It is the same emulsifying process for writers and readers: they are one; they become one in so-doing, in so-sharing that same inquisitive psychic space.

So, in inessentialist and mobile essence, yes, Readrrr, we, indeed and in all mattering ways, are one. Not just now, as you are reading this and my words are coming alive in you, but forever, as my words unfold in your thoughts and your thoughts unfold in your being and your being unfolds in your life and even in your death. What’s yours is always ours. And since what’s mine is yours, what’s mine is always ours, too. Thus language itself reveals the nature our connection, just as do the hours.

Grammar is alive if we live through it and open ourselves to it. Language is as deep and vast as we allow it to be. With ‘the nuns’, I have learned that language is identity, and I have lived a thousand lives therein– a thousand lives that come back to the same notion: the erotic notion of our Lorde.

When language became an erotic practice for me, I opened up to Language and Language opened up to me. It was love. It was Beatrice eating Dante’s flaming heart, haunting his dreams, admonishing infernally the living hell-lights out of him at the mew-nicipal high tower of Purgatory, pulling him deeper and deeper inside of her on the way to Paradise: where they become one with The Light. Language is Virgil, leading Dante to his Beatrice and to their heaven.

Let Language, Readrrr, speak to you and guide you thus, to your Beatific Destiny. Language can save your life and give you other lives. I have witnessed Language transcend death, and I now believe fully in its lighthouse-like immortality: for we. This is the meaning of the collective “we.” “We are Beatrice,” Readrrr. These words, their collective uses, comprise our road to a transcendent eternity. Enter your senectitude with a beatific attitude.

We are, then, agreed: those in education have been thinking about education without its core “we” for too long. Its core is erotic life-force, The Beatitudinal We: what our dear Lorde articulates for us. When will the education system outside of the Lavender Academy ever hear Lorde’s words? When will its false and perfunctory, capitalism-bound pretend pretexts fall away so that an erotic empathy larger than life can be revealed?

Hours and ours from now, we hope and pray, there will come a day.

You may be wondering about the psychedelic nature of hexual education. That is good. The nuns are hippies at heart, Readrrr; they are tripping on intoxicating substances from an other-worldly source. It’s more than aromatic; it’s psycho-arrowmantic.

Let go of all of the nonsense, of all of the excess skin, and come to the bare bones and full soul of nunsensical education, here. Occupy space within the tell-tail heart of a little nun and her big mouth will proclaim the glory of our (Dear Lorde’s) name.

Speaking of our dear Lorde’s brain: it is connected deeply to what’s hours and ours. Admit it into your psyche, Readrrr.

In a sea of spiritual notions, a sea-slug dime a dozen, few notions come close to breaking the surface of the subterfugal wave of deeply empowered and empowering spiritual eroticism. Lorde’s awakening notion, however, doesn’t just come close, Readrrr. It, Dear Readrrr, penetrates the cognitive barriers between land and lake, ocean and notion. Our notion penetrates the aching, shaking lines between rhymes. Not to gabstract you to death/depth.

May the Force of Eros be with you, ever and ever, Readrrr.

Oui, Oui. We, We. We.e., We.e..

Learning how to love

and learning how to think

were synonymous processes,

so what I learned of how to think-love,

I could only learn with my beloved You.

I learned how to compose

–to analyze, synthesize, and construct–

sentences from a great scientist and pro

but when it came to juxtapose,

I had to returned to my beloved, Home.

One Comment Add yours

  1. John H Curry says:

    Oui, Oui. This poem is sublime. ~~ About the Hex Lesson(shaking his head), I need to rrreread…I sense the feeling I’ve lost in time and faulty wiring is a space to look into even through. Your writing, Sistrrr Grim, is a magic feast, the more I taste the more there is. Bear with me at least, while I learn to caress this learning curve

    Liked by 1 person

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