Sirius is the
brightest
star in the night sky. It's twice as massive as the Sun. It can be
seen from almost every inhabited region of the Earth's surface. The
name Sirius is derived from the ancient Greek seirios
meaning "glowing" or "scorcher". It also means "moving consciousness
from one reality to another, "spirit of wisdom", and
"brightly
radiating one".
"Who are you?"
I beseech her - eagerly, enchantedly, totally at peace, the tip of my
nose a quarter inch from the tip of hers, my arms wrapped around her
arms wrapped around me. "I have to know
who you are.
I mean
who are youreally?". "I'm Sirius" she says nonchalantly,
playfully,
teasing me like I should already know that, smiling her smile like a
warm, blue tropical
lagoon
which invites me - no, compels me - to dive into it and
swim
in it, at home eternally.
Sirius isn't her real name, of course. She says she's Sirius to evoke
something she wants to convey in answer to my question. In any case,
whatever her real name is, it isn't
who she really is
- no one's is. But when she says she's Sirius, I know who she's being
by being Sirius. I know the hugeness of Sirius. And I know almost every
single human being who's ever walked the
face
of this Earth has seen Sirius. I know Sirius glows
brighter
than any other star, and she's (colloquially) hot. Suddenly I
realize (it's like osmosis) what she really wants me to get by saying
she's Sirius: she's reminding me it's I who's bringing to her
whatever it is I say is great about her. It's I who brings to
her all the greatness I ascribe to her. It's I who imbues in her all
the fabulous qualities of Sirius.
To be sure, when I look at her, she really is great.
Anyone can see that. But that's also the start of the trap, the edge of
the slippery slope over which I'm instinctively cautious not to slide:
if I want her greatness, I have to go over there to her to
get it. What she makes possible is me bringing greatness to her, rather
than going over there to get it from her. It's a possibility which
makes
passion
effortlessly easy
(passion
I say isn't as much the finding of something great and the
satisfaction which comes with getting it, as it's the bringing of
something great to bear and the
victory
which comes with experiencing that).
Then comes a shock as I realize I've met her before - this isn't the
first time. What's shocking is being with her here and not
remembering the first location. Where was the first place
I met her? The first time I met her must have been a long,
long time ago - it could have even been
decades
ago ... but where?
Try as I might, I just can't remember. She has the kind of
beautifully unforgettable
face
which instantly
etches
itself permanently into your memory as soon as you see it. You remember
it forever - you know, it's that kind of
face.
But where was it I saw this
face
for the first time? Where? ... and then suddenly I
remember where: everywhere. I've seen her everywhere. She's
everywoman. I've seen her
face
before in every woman's
face
I've ever seen. That's where.
Where I've met her before is in every woman I've ever met. Where I've
experienced her
passion
before is in
the heart
of each of the human beings I've ever known.
Passion
is Sirius. Sirius is
passion.
To experience anyone's
passion
is to experience Sirius'
passion.
To experience her
passion
is to know everyone's.
"Wow! She really is Sirius" I say to myself, amazed it
actually
works
this way. Sirius, laying there on her side beaming, her head propped up
on her hand, her
face
awash in a cascade of auburn curls, spotlights me with her direct,
calm, nothing going on over here radiant, twinkling smile.
She isn't out to take my love, nor does she allow me to be taken by
hers. Instead the love she makes is pure
Self‑expression.
Hers are the actions of near total
Self‑sufficiency.
Sirius is glowing,
bright,
hot, scorching in fact. In her not needing one single
thing from me, she's totally irresistible to me.