Drinking Wisdom from her Lips
“Some say the Muses are nine: how careless!
Look, there's Sappho too, from Lesbos, the tenth.”
-Plato-
I have heard her story thousands of times; ancient accounts dating back to the era of antecedents tell that she is legendary, fabulous, a mythical creature that many admire and wish to come across. So many legends, so many stories and writings have attempted to describe her, and comprehend her mysteries, yet in vain; none has seen her; none has met her. Some tell she has never existed and pretend that the human mind's eye has created her from nonentity; others say that her story is the fruit of scraps of frustrated desires; others believe that she had existed and that she had the greatest and strongest woman ever, an exceptional lady in love with her body and the similar, a rebellious and astonishing woman. Accounts are different for truth cannot be pinned down with facts and evidence.
All I can tell is that she had existed; she was real as much as I am, a woman liberated from subordination to males, a woman capable of satisfying her own desires, capable of loving the similar, and listening to the call of her body. Sometimes, I feel her alive in me, as if all her elements are running in my blood quenching my thirst for glory and love; sometimes, I feel like she is gazing at me, watching my steps and beseeching the helpless me to revive her splendour and spread her words of love and pride. One day, I was sober enough to see her blood and flesh before my eyes; she was drinking from my wineglass and whispering,
“Here you are, a little child of me, yet I have never given you birth; all I can engender is love; here you are drinking in the late hours of night and thinking, pondering like a Buddha; I know that your path is thorny like my path was, like the path of every rebel and dissenter is. Torture is part of our life; we can never be heroines if we sleep on silky bed sheets and feather-stuffed pillows; we can never be heroines if we lift the white flag and melt in the crowd; torture is the elixir of bravery and intrepidness; the more they will persecute, the more we will become obstinate and adamant.
So fill my wineglass
with your tears, so I can taste the bitterness in you and loose mind, so I can share your pain and savour the sour cocktail making you strong and great. Fill my wineglass with your torments and agonies and gaze in my eyes; you will see them torments and agonies turning into two fireballs ready to annihilate the whole world in seconds, ready to flatten and ruin the civilisations of the blind, dumb, deaf, and ordinary. Your tears taste so bitter, and in bitterness, we learn how to survive, grow and swell; so give me some more and fill the glass; I want to drink with you, loose mind and let my angels and demons free.
Fill my wineglass
with you laughs and smiles so I can savour the light moments and delights of yours, so I can take pleasure in your pleasure and satisfy the ancient legendary woman emerging from her tomb. Drinking from your memory anecdotes and stories of delight, I am feeling alive, animate, breathing. Fill my glass with your laughs and smiles for I know for sure that delights have come your way; life is half-black and half-white; and between the black and the white, we move back and forth, we take and we give, we remember and we forget. Your laughs and smiles have the same taste as my laughs and smiles for you are witnessing today the same pleasures I savoured in times of yore; you are a child of mine, something in your blood calls my name, yet, I have never given you birth; all I can engender is love.
Fill my wineglass,
with poison so I can savour the all the kisses of the cobras you have known; I recognize that falling in love with a woman is like falling in love with fatality; it has never been easy to kiss a cobra, a daughter of Lesbos; every kiss tastes different and can be lethal; every kiss tastes sweet as you ask for more poison. We live by venom, loose mind with venom and die for more; the cobra dances to hypnotise us; she moves right then left; she fixes us with her gaze until the cobra in us comes to life; she shares the dance, sweet dance of cobras kissing and imparting venom till falling over in the midst of pleasures. The dance is everlasting as the music of the flesh is ceaseless; bloods on their lips, cobras maintain the dance; the poisons of love in their blood, cobras never breathe their last.
Fill my wineglass,
with love and passion, passions that have ignited your madness and insanity, passions that have rendered you strong, sometimes weak; I want to savour the taste of your passions in their gusto and fervour. I know that your heart is like mine consumed by feelings and unrivalled sensations; I know that you are ready to go into hell for the sin of passion for your passion is greater than fires and heavens, for your passion is true and overwhelming. Fill my glass with your passions for I want to drown in the seas of love and never emerge again; I want to dissolve in the oceans of passion and never come back again. Fill my glass with the hazardous adventures of your heart; I am loosing mind; I want to loose mind; I want to travel to your world and share it all with you, as you have been sharing all with me.
Stop,
not a single drop; stop; do not spill more in my empty glass; I am no more able to stand to my feet; I feel like soaring in the air; I am soaring like a dove as if I am rising to heavens; I am inebriated it seems; just listen to me for I want you to know that I am not a myth; in me, you live, as in you, I subsist. We are the cobras, the atypical, exceptional women in this world; we are love, passion, tears, laughs, smiles, poison, and bitterness; we are threat as we are compassion; we are power in the world of the blind, dumb, deaf, and ordinary.”
Note: I referred to Plato’s depiction of Sappho in line with a Lesbian culture and history I esteem; yet, in my text, I was not speaking of Sappho but of the first Lesbian in human history whom accounts and historians failed to designate. For this woman, the first Lesbian ever, I dedicate this note.
-Faithinlove-
“Some say the Muses are nine: how careless!
Look, there's Sappho too, from Lesbos, the tenth.”
-Plato-
I have heard her story thousands of times; ancient accounts dating back to the era of antecedents tell that she is legendary, fabulous, a mythical creature that many admire and wish to come across. So many legends, so many stories and writings have attempted to describe her, and comprehend her mysteries, yet in vain; none has seen her; none has met her. Some tell she has never existed and pretend that the human mind's eye has created her from nonentity; others say that her story is the fruit of scraps of frustrated desires; others believe that she had existed and that she had the greatest and strongest woman ever, an exceptional lady in love with her body and the similar, a rebellious and astonishing woman. Accounts are different for truth cannot be pinned down with facts and evidence.
All I can tell is that she had existed; she was real as much as I am, a woman liberated from subordination to males, a woman capable of satisfying her own desires, capable of loving the similar, and listening to the call of her body. Sometimes, I feel her alive in me, as if all her elements are running in my blood quenching my thirst for glory and love; sometimes, I feel like she is gazing at me, watching my steps and beseeching the helpless me to revive her splendour and spread her words of love and pride. One day, I was sober enough to see her blood and flesh before my eyes; she was drinking from my wineglass and whispering,
“Here you are, a little child of me, yet I have never given you birth; all I can engender is love; here you are drinking in the late hours of night and thinking, pondering like a Buddha; I know that your path is thorny like my path was, like the path of every rebel and dissenter is. Torture is part of our life; we can never be heroines if we sleep on silky bed sheets and feather-stuffed pillows; we can never be heroines if we lift the white flag and melt in the crowd; torture is the elixir of bravery and intrepidness; the more they will persecute, the more we will become obstinate and adamant.
So fill my wineglass
with your tears, so I can taste the bitterness in you and loose mind, so I can share your pain and savour the sour cocktail making you strong and great. Fill my wineglass with your torments and agonies and gaze in my eyes; you will see them torments and agonies turning into two fireballs ready to annihilate the whole world in seconds, ready to flatten and ruin the civilisations of the blind, dumb, deaf, and ordinary. Your tears taste so bitter, and in bitterness, we learn how to survive, grow and swell; so give me some more and fill the glass; I want to drink with you, loose mind and let my angels and demons free.
Fill my wineglass
with you laughs and smiles so I can savour the light moments and delights of yours, so I can take pleasure in your pleasure and satisfy the ancient legendary woman emerging from her tomb. Drinking from your memory anecdotes and stories of delight, I am feeling alive, animate, breathing. Fill my glass with your laughs and smiles for I know for sure that delights have come your way; life is half-black and half-white; and between the black and the white, we move back and forth, we take and we give, we remember and we forget. Your laughs and smiles have the same taste as my laughs and smiles for you are witnessing today the same pleasures I savoured in times of yore; you are a child of mine, something in your blood calls my name, yet, I have never given you birth; all I can engender is love.
Fill my wineglass,
with poison so I can savour the all the kisses of the cobras you have known; I recognize that falling in love with a woman is like falling in love with fatality; it has never been easy to kiss a cobra, a daughter of Lesbos; every kiss tastes different and can be lethal; every kiss tastes sweet as you ask for more poison. We live by venom, loose mind with venom and die for more; the cobra dances to hypnotise us; she moves right then left; she fixes us with her gaze until the cobra in us comes to life; she shares the dance, sweet dance of cobras kissing and imparting venom till falling over in the midst of pleasures. The dance is everlasting as the music of the flesh is ceaseless; bloods on their lips, cobras maintain the dance; the poisons of love in their blood, cobras never breathe their last.
Fill my wineglass,
with love and passion, passions that have ignited your madness and insanity, passions that have rendered you strong, sometimes weak; I want to savour the taste of your passions in their gusto and fervour. I know that your heart is like mine consumed by feelings and unrivalled sensations; I know that you are ready to go into hell for the sin of passion for your passion is greater than fires and heavens, for your passion is true and overwhelming. Fill my glass with your passions for I want to drown in the seas of love and never emerge again; I want to dissolve in the oceans of passion and never come back again. Fill my glass with the hazardous adventures of your heart; I am loosing mind; I want to loose mind; I want to travel to your world and share it all with you, as you have been sharing all with me.
Stop,
not a single drop; stop; do not spill more in my empty glass; I am no more able to stand to my feet; I feel like soaring in the air; I am soaring like a dove as if I am rising to heavens; I am inebriated it seems; just listen to me for I want you to know that I am not a myth; in me, you live, as in you, I subsist. We are the cobras, the atypical, exceptional women in this world; we are love, passion, tears, laughs, smiles, poison, and bitterness; we are threat as we are compassion; we are power in the world of the blind, dumb, deaf, and ordinary.”
Note: I referred to Plato’s depiction of Sappho in line with a Lesbian culture and history I esteem; yet, in my text, I was not speaking of Sappho but of the first Lesbian in human history whom accounts and historians failed to designate. For this woman, the first Lesbian ever, I dedicate this note.
-Faithinlove-
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