Eye to Eye

A low and dark space. Face to face, on the floor, He and She are sitting. A burning fire in the hearth between them.

He is strong and gorgeous—His naked shoulders and arms are covered with a coppery tan; as if by an Earth parallel His head is enlaced by the brown-and-blue woven fillet, His soft hair is curling down the shoulders.
She shines with the milk white, Her young breasts are looking at Him as if two big attentive eyes; as if two wide earth paths Her long dark hair is covering Her back from the stone chill, the fire is dancing in Her big eyes and on Her soft belly.

Eye to eye. Her hands over His hands—protecting the burning fire and absorbing the streaming warmth.

They have been sitting for an hour. Sitting for a day. Sitting for a year. Sitting for an age. The eyes opposite become closer than the point of each one’s own nose, and inside them a fairytale begins, one for the two.
She is rising. She is taking a timbrel. Her hips are timing like a cradle, right-left, right-left. She is firmly putting Her large feet onto the ground so that to make the world see the reality of Her existence. Slowly at first, and then faster and faster, Her hands are flying up as if two scared birds in the night forest, they are touching the vault of the cave and dropping down; Her hair is wrapping around Her strong young body, hiding and baring Her beauty.

He is reaching out His hands to Her, yet not touching Her body. She is eluding—He is pursuing, He might easily catch Her, yet He doesn’t dare to break this magnificent wild dance. His every move makes Her body discover its new curve so that to escape His hands. He is enchanted by her movements and sounds of her timbrel. He would wish He were this timbrel and could tap now at Her slender legs, now at Her wide hips, or, with a sweet thrill, come down on Her gorgeous hair. All of a sudden She is breaking off her dance, taking His head into Her hands, pulling it close to Her face and He hears her confident whisper, “I know your name! It is Strong Root.”

He is tightly clasping Her wrists, raising them up. Pressing Her against the stone wall. Penetrating into Her. Sinking in Her eyes as if in the deepest night tarns. He is bending to Her face and whispering, “I, too, know your name! It is Entire World! There is no place without you, you are the entire happiness, you are the entire full cup; wherever you are there is an entire full home and you are full of me. You are my Entire World!”
And so they are sitting—eye to eye—protecting the burning fire and absorbing its divine warmth. They have been together for an hour, for a day, for a year, for an age. And there is no ending for this fairytale they are watching in each other’s eyes.