The face emerges from the ocean, breaking the surface with pileated skin and eyes that do not need to open to see. The moon shines above from a court of powerful women luxuriating in physical pleasures arrived at from building a strong community. Everything arrives from this court of women, an alien ambassadorship of decadent styles from a future that is always arriving. They shine down with moonbeams on the new face to the world, Uranian beams piercing through salt water. There are three of them making their last rounds in this lifetime; the wound that isn’t entirely human, love is finding out the culminating expression of luxurious, earthly sensuality, and Time has passed through this particular ocean in this particular way, for the last round of lessons, for the last Summer Solstice, charting the ocean for all its depths before taking a seat on the throne of the heart of Time. Rising and falling through fluid substance of permeability with the surrounding universe is the core of it: a multidimensional presence in the next ocean of Self. Two faces stare at each other as they gaze at the last rays of the evening sun fall on the empire before the next page is turned into the next epoch. Holding hands, and holding gaze, they see in all directions at once, with the eyes that do not need to be open to see. One tether to the blooming flower on the earth’s surface keeps them connected to humanity. Another tether, like a good phone reception, is always on the line with underworlds in the foundations of the self, transforming every surrounding into a furnace which is continuously dived into for information from the depths of the depths and brought back into the upper regions for balance, for the next round in the next house, the next life, pulled from this one through play with lightning bolts that even the court of powerful women adore as it strikes them into new ways of holding court. Dreams are part of the daily affair, tangible as gardening.