I was born twice. Once, in Texas on the Gulf. Salted air still returns a natal lure.
The second birth happened on a crisp black and blue night in Austin TX. I was 17, technically still a child.
She asked the same questions I did. How could s(he) have known I so badly needed them answered? I asked, like a child, expecting an answer.
Like birth, the moment was beautiful and painful, commensurate to our ancestors’ banishment from the Garden.
I searched for love, meaning, wholeness. It came.
That year, I did not fall in love, but it was the first time I pledged my love.
Damiel and Marion represented the two halves that became whole in me.
In that moment, I welcomed the irrevocable choice of corruption and knowledge—and the beauty and liberty of my burgeoning adulthood. I accepted with nervous anticipation, the honor and responsibility of my second birth.
Wings of Desire remains the parable of my continued journey.