A thousand years

Little bird

                                                                                   Emily         

I sat cross-legged on my apartment floor, idly running my fingers through the soft shag rug as Oliver rifled through my extensive vinyl collection.

"Damn Emily, you've got some really stellar albums in here," he remarked, plucking out a well-worn record sleeve. "Original pressing of Miles Davis' Kind of Blue? You've got exquisite taste."

I shrugged one shoulder casually. "What can I say? I'm an old soul."

Oliver flashed me that lopsided grin that never failed to kick up a swarm of cosmic butterflies in my chest. Even after crossing paths countless times through infinities of existence, that smile always scrambled my metaphysical circuits.

As he delicately set the turntable spinning and dropped the needle with a crackle, that smoky trumpet instantly summoned half-remembered visions of dimly lit jazz clubs, Oliver and I sharing coded gazes across some subterranean greenroom decades or even centuries ago.

I blinked, pulling myself back to the present as Oliver settled in beside me on the floor, our shoulders brushing. His ocean blue eyes were soft as they met mine, dancing with recognition of the cosmic memories playing out between us yet again.

"Nice to link back up in this realm, little bird," he murmured low, using that enigmatic endearment that had flitted through countless other lifetimes, other worlds.

I felt my heart constrict at the profound familiarity, the pure resonance that transcended language and physics. Oliver's essence was so deeply imprinted in my metaphysical DNA, his soul signatures coded into the marrow.

Unable to find the right response, I simply smiled and gave an infinitesimal nod. Words were obsolete currency between interwoven beings such as ourselves.

In comfortable silence, we leaned back and surrendered into the plaintive trumpet wails swirling through my little apartment. I allowed my mind's eye to unspool, watching ghostly overlay visions materialize and dissipate like brushstrokes of cosmic smoke.

There was Oliver as a fedora-tipped beatnik poet in 1950s San Francisco, shredding minds with his ruminative reverberations...As a wild-eyed Spanish conquistador alongside me on a obsidian trance galleon in the 1500s, cleaving realities with each league sailed...As a radiant bennu bird entity in an ancient Egyptian sanctuary, guiding me into the abounding stream of eternal consciousness.

On and on, our metaphysical lineages echoed through Akashic timewave fragments until I seamlessly slipped back into the here and now moment with Oliver on my apartment floor. His hand found mine as we breathed in tandem with the ebb and pulse of the jazz vibrations.

Leaning over, I rested my head on his solid shoulder, allowing his grounded yet cosmic presence to initiate the resonance realignment between us once more. A sacred reunion of cellular chakra attunement points catalyzing into harmonious tantric synergy.

"I've missed this connection," I whispered in a wash of naked vulnerability, feeling Oliver's lips brush the top of my head with reassuring tenderness.

"As have I, beloved," his eternal rumble caressed my essence like a hypnagogic shore. "As have I."

My eyes drifted closed as the music crescendoed into impassioned stratospheres, dissolving any remaining barriers between this locus of embodiment and the unfurling corridors of infinite beyond. All planes of existence simultaneously convecting, eddying, becoming.

For a suspended infinitude, Oliver and I simply coexisted as communing facets of a unified field - two souls harmonically attuned to the universe's deepest quintessence while also experiencing the blessed gift of individuated consciousness.