Theo and I are chanting, it’s Saturday night in Melbourne and my lover is teaching me something about the Vedas. He explains that Purusha Suktam in simple English loosely translates as word-by-word. Theo is tender with me as I stumble on “prosodial units of time.”
“Slowly does it”, nodding, whispering, “Yes, that’s it”, each utterance I chant with Theo’s guidance is a word in “near perfect pitch”.
Theo says, “The Indian Vedas are amongst the world’s most ancient sacred texts”. He caresses my cheek gently while guiding me further, “The Avestan Gathas from Iran, the Old Testament and, yours truly..." His warm rosy hands flourishing air parentheses before me, “Greek Lit”.
Theo explains that the four Vedas, Rig, Yajur, Sama and Atharva, or, mantras are not books in the sense that these other texts are books. These are from an oral tradition. In their truest form these mantras are chanted, spoken, as visual iterations rather than written form.”
It seems like this morning star trail in our three year relationship was only nanoseconds ago.
Despite Theo’s mood swings (volcanic is the word on my tongue tip) I find myself clinging to ecstatic feelings long after the moment has past. This, I fool myself is truly better than seeing the truth as it really is. Three years in, I can cite my own Ptolemy’s Almagest of equally stellar moments in our relationship yet these too have long since extinguished (dead stars).