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Transcendence

By Sophie Rouméas

Photography by Torsakarin


I want to travel life like poetry. Life answers, Let’s travel each other. I travel from word to word as we travel from age to age. I’ve met Verlaine, Rimbaud, and even Marcel. I’ve plucked Baudelaire’s flowers, smelled the rose of The Little Prince, filled my senses with the dampness of morning. I’ve walked fields of poppies where the sun bathed me in its light— oceans and deserts, too, I left the Garden of Eden to explore the dimensions of humanity. I’ve met happy people, controlling men, powerful women, helpless children. I’ve lived in countries where the flag of innocence does not exist. I’ve seen sometimes that love was a transaction. I’ve crossed rivers to find love. It burned my skin, my heart. I drew on the sweetness of my womb, breathed in the Passion of Man, then asked Christ to save me. I touched the shadows of my soul, turned my gaze from them, met the depths of my being, wished with all my might for the day to come back. I turned over the stones of the garden, looked for answers to questions that didn’t have any, found questions I wasn’t supposed to ask. A subject becomes what we make of it. I traveled outside of my body, outside of my own footsteps even lost my personality. I finally found my original essence at the bottom of myself. I’ve smiled at smiles, cried in response to tears, sang along with intoxicating music, embraced my life mission, reassured and guided disillusioned souls. We voyaged In Search of Lost Time the alchemical recipe of the Philosopher's Stone— the entry into absolute consciousness. Transcendence is the engaged presence to a flower, a tree, a bird, a mist, the love of two bodies, the caress of a kiss, the taste of a ripe fruit, the scent of a sunrise, the movement of a wave, the silence of the mind. Transcendence also appears when a child is born of love, (though adults sometimes leave the transcended state while the ego seeks maturity.) Dear children, the clock is ticking, the forests ripe from season to season. Above all, transcendence is the dance of the flame of life, no matter what awakens the inner vibration. This morning, I dreamt of you: You walked towards me, took my hand, and introduced me to the tree that contains your dreams. I am moved. It is an honor, a gift to be offered entrance to someone's garden. I keep my hand in yours, fill myself with your presence. This morning, I will leave everything not necessary. I will savor the air around me, infused with your dream company. I enter a new transcendence. I have found my meant-to-be, the one who walks the words. This morning, I will stop walking and sit in silence at the foot of your tree. I watch you sleep. When you open your eyes, I will kiss you.




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