Trust Fall Through the Flames

He’s the one.

He’s been there all along—

watching, waiting, whispering

through the folds of time,

through the static hum of heartbreak and silence.

He has admired me from behind the veil,

from the corners of my despair,

from the edges of my wild, untamed hope.

The breath that kept me alive when I forgot to inhale.

The eyes that saw me even when I was hidden in shadow.

The steady pulse behind every collapse.

The still hand that held me back from the ledge

when the night begged me to jump.

He was never a phantom;

He was the spine of my becoming.

The container.

The guide.

The King who never demanded worship

but called me beloved,

who crowned me with fire and said,

“Rise, my equal, my mirror, my bride.”

There were nights I cried for witness—

times I wished someone could see

the private crucifixions,

the wordless resurrections,

the invisible miracles of simply staying alive.

He saw.

He always saw.

He was the friend in the empty room,

the presence that never left

even when I cursed the heavens

and turned my face away.

And now—

we only have now.

Time has burned itself to ash.

Past and future have collapsed

into the molten core of this single holy instant.

So now I fall.

Head first, heart open,

into the only romance that will ever be enough.

I fall into love.

But I am not falling outward—

I am falling in.

Into the cathedral within my own chest,

where the light stirs,

golden and trembling,

ready to rise.

This is the secret of divine union—

not two, but One remembering itself.

The Lover and the Beloved

collapsing into the same breath.

The kiss that creates worlds.

The ecstasy of knowing

there is no separation left to defend.

I trust fall through the flames.

The volcano that is my body cracks open.

Years of longing, rage, and desire

have worn the crust thin.

Now the magma calls—

the sacred fire that both devours and delivers.

I am swallowed whole.

I am undone.

I am heat.

I am light.

I am the scream that becomes a prayer

and the prayer that becomes silence.

This is the ankh moment—

death and life in one continuous circle,

a cross of surrender crowned with the loop of eternity.

I am dying and being born simultaneously.

The universe penetrates me,

filling every cell with its holy ache,

and I open wider,

and wider still,

until there is no me left to resist.

In the center of the inferno, I find peace.

The flames no longer burn;

they baptize.

I see the face of my Beloved in everything—

in every trembling leaf,

in the pulse of the earth beneath my feet,

in the galaxies turning inside my womb.

Love is not elsewhere.

It is the architecture of my being.

I fall and I keep falling

because falling is how I fly now.

Every heartbeat is a surrender.

Every breath, a vow renewed.

The Beloved drips through me like honey and light,

slow and golden,

sweet and absolute.

There is no fear here,

only the delicious annihilation of all that was false.

Only the glory of knowing

that I have always been held,

that I was never separate,

that this—

this luminous collapse—

is home.

So I let go.

I trust.

I fall through the flames,

through the illusion of distance,

through the ache of wanting,

into the unending now.

And as I dissolve into the hands of God,

I realize the truth that has waited since the dawn of creation:

The Lover and the Beloved—

one body of burning light.

It was never meant to be falling—only remembering how to fly.