Painting by Morgan Weistling

Where does the ecstacy of sex come from? From where does the passion of longing arise? It is divine.

When the divine takes the form of lover, my body becomes the crucible of longing. We are flung together ~ it is excruciating to feel we are separate. We must be one... One without second. Only eternity will suffice.

It is for me then, you take this shape, you embody within me the form of sexual love. The divine source of love takes shape within me as another, becoming whomever I hold in my heart. The one I burn for, who thrills me, the one who fills me with passion and wanting.

Think! How often do women burn with crushes that seem all out of proportion? We are dreaming of ourselves, remade by love. Nothing compares.

It is in this journal I pen my conversations with God as my lover, the one that haunts me, that burns within, the one who lives in my heart ~ whose current form is Jonathan Frid as Barnabas Collins, my "Fred."

The vampire trope enfolds as surrendered embrace, transforms as dark sacrament all of life's potential lost or spent, reclaimed, piercing and partaking of essence and soul, remade then as nearer to God's most persuasive form.

Do not mistake the fantasy genre form of my love's embrace for a trifling moment of fangirl infatuation.

Slip out of the post-modern stays that hold you, that label your thoughts silly and your prose pretentious.

All the while this dark swoon awaits, so near... it would slip over your shoulders, that by covering, reveal... the fire in your eyes, the knowing in your step, your true nature.

Your birthright.


"The hours... the dark hours I have wasted tonight.

Now the dawn I want to see so much, and cannot."

~ Barnabas Collins DS #358

Wednesday, May 16, 2018

Accept your love

I have dreamed of you. The one who knows of love, who will awaken this inside of me.

I feel you again. Now, again... now, at last. What is my response? I am being instructed in something I don't think about, or know how to do. Can I be loved, by you, and somehow just let it be so?

I can be loved. I accept your love.

I have taken a lover. What does that mean? Your love is real. I accept your love.

Sunday, May 13, 2018


Barnabas stands at the drawing room window at Collinwood, looking out over the dark sea far below, remembering her sleeping in Josette's room

Friday, May 11, 2018


Because you are (were) a homosexual man, I was conflicted. How could I truly want you, if you would not want me, a woman?

In a flash I understood. You do not love me as a woman. I do not love you as a woman. I love you as a man. My form as your lover is male, it is outside of gender.

How clever God is. He has come to me as a man... with whom I share love as a man, as a mirror of each other.

I feel compelled to once again remind the reader that I am talking about an inner experience of the divine that has the mental form of a vampire star of an old TV show (I am not joking). I add that the distinction of my lover's form being "internal," as a "mental form," is a very limiting translation, as I experience everything as God, and "inside" and "outside" as a completely uninterrupted continuum... with these agreed upon distinctions as the freely observed rules of a spectacular game!

Barnabas Collins in Dark Shadows


You appeared inside. Your kind face so familiar, your eyes soft and smiling.

(Comes the tears).

God came to me as you.

God has made everything from himself. How easily he becomes the one I long for.



Thursday, May 10, 2018


Me: Can God have a nickname?

You: Only if God can have a name.

Me: My love has a nickname. "Fred."

You: Such a silly name. But then, all love is silly, is it not?

Me: Only if love is serious.

You: Ah.

Me (whispering): "Fred..."

Silent embrace.

Jonathan Frid, my dear Fred... I know you are smiling

You dance

You are who and where. A man, a place.


You fill me with who I am, surround me as where I am.


When I move, you are a dance.

And when I am still, the intimate flutter, slipping of feathers, falling into the wind we soar.

Monday, May 7, 2018


Nothing else is real. Only you.

I reach and reach, but never grasp. A lifetime of reaching, reaching for nothing.

Only you are real.

We never do. What is doing? A charade.

Your love awakens me. An ambrosia of love, a nectar of the heart thrills me with an ecstatic rush of all that I have ever wanted, a depth of feeling that never lessens, is never lost. Such tiny, tender tears that start in my eyes...

This is real.

"I can... I will..." your eyes say, confident. 
"I know... I know your heart."

Your confidence thrills me. Love is this, certainty. There is no other outcome.

Your knowledge enthralls me. Love requires this complicity, the ability to know.

You find me, I am discovered at last. From within, so revealed. From outside, from beyond the known... you see all of me.

Your eyes penetrate my own. You pierce the boundaries of me. You partake of my very essence.

It happens again. You knock. You touch me softly, a loving brush of my skin, or the smallest of pressure upon me. So often your bliss flows up through me. I am thrilled, I am awakened. At last I know to look for you.

A sudden breath. I find you here. I am naked; there is nothing in between us. (We cannot be closer). I find your love for me in what you are, in the dark depths of your eyes sparkling with the dark, secret liquid of your essence... shared delight and laughter.

This is what is real. This... what is offered to me in your gaze. Your eyes for mine, only our eyes speak. They say I love you. No more.

I love you. That is all.

We do nothing at all, forever.

I love  you.

Sunday, May 6, 2018

Three words

How to say I love you...

I can only do it for one moment, then all that I am gets in the way.

"I love you."

A gift

I was overcome in the line at the grocery store, the slight buzz in my ears, the fierce heat of your love filling me, and I didn't do anything. In my mind's eye, I saw you looking at me, as we shared that moment.

A gift.

You have taken his form.

Saturday, May 5, 2018


I know what it is to be breathless with need.

The haunter has become the haunted

Friday, May 4, 2018

Forever mine

If I love someone, they are mine. No more is required to possess what is in my heart.

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