Making Astral LoveI don't know how we got to be dragonflies after being dragons and hawks and whatnot. Except it is all about flying, and we want to fly -- physically, perhaps -- but mostly metaphorically and... what's the word? It's not psychically. There's a word for that kind of energy. I can't pull it out of my word place. Astral projection, perhaps?
We can, through imagination and maybe through the occultus mens, project ourselves into dreamtime, and learn some interesting things. These things attain reality through us, as individuals, by assigning meaning to them. Meaning is reality.
Does this kind of talk turn you on? Do you understand that feeling in your tummy, when you know it is going to happen -- when you look in each other's eyes, and you see that tension and it is matched by one of your own. The blood starts congregating between your legs and your body starts to become much more sensitive.
When I touch you here, and here, and here -- the electricity sparks with each touch, burning the hot spark of connubial premonition. Inside your hidden mind, I am already there, inside you, penis to vagina, feeling that languid tactile slide home, taking me in... my body stops, but the hidden mind does not, slurping into yours and yours into mine, projecting outside like water exploding into the air when a wave hits a rock.
I am a dragonly. I am one long phallus and when I land on you and clutch your body so you can not get away and my length penetrates you from behind, you are lost in that release that comes from having no power and no desire for power to get away. You give yourself to me utterly and freely, because having me inside you is life, itself.
When we make love, face to face, as only humans can do, and your legs are wrapped around me, urging me deeper and deeper, and bliss is mingled with the sweat on your face, and your mind is nowhere, the hidden mind ascendant and creative, both metaphorically and physically -- you are impregnated with me-ness as I am with you-ness.
The scale of dragon love is as much bigger than us as dragonfly love is smaller. It is huge, with a penis four or five feet long and a vagina just as deep. When I penetrate you, it takes minutes or, if we like, hours to complete plumb the bottom of that well. We fly, slowly gliding, occasionally pushing the air with our wings, attached at the hips, soaring physically and metaphorically. Sometimes our love creates random wormholes into which we fall, disappearing in one place and appearing in another.
When the fluids from our love fall from the sky, breaking into small, luminescent drops, the people call it "dragon rain." It is considered very lucky, for crops that are blessed with dragon rain grow twice as thick and lush and fecund.
The muse in us is set free, and dreams of all types flash into life, exploding as our bodies explode, spewing pleasure everywhere. I pump my living essence into you, where it combines with your, less dramatic essence, and we create, create, and create. What more can we want? What more can we celebrate? What more can we give meaning to?