Here is a draft of the beginning of Chapter Two of my novel The Obelisks of Remi Soul.
Remi rolled over in the bed and felt the transcendent warmth and softness of a lithe and naked female form. He edged himself closer into a delicious and comforting spoon position where both forms faced the same direction and he curved his body gently into the shape of her back, buttocks and legs. This could easily have been a blissful pure dream state and if he were not so sunken into a near-sleeping semi-consciousness in the first place, his regained alertness, on slowly waking, would quickly have assumed that it was indeed bringing itself out of dream; for it had been a very long time since he had been suffused with that particular type of soulful succour that comes from the intimacy of skin and the privacy of a close, mutual nakedness known only to lovers. This most delicate and uplifting of human feelings which strikes at the roots of our ceaseless battle with the ultimate reality of solitude and mortality – the gentleness and sensuality of two familiar, or even indeed, unfamiliar bodies, either in the gently reducing arc of the post-coital senses as sleep encroaches, breath by breath, and the quiet and spiritual glow of physical satiety and emotional connection morphs beautifully from a state of conscious awareness into the slow vacillation of a breathing rate gradually reducing to the perfect and embalming rate of sleep; or else bodies that find themselves thus entwined even outwith any recent frame of that even more vibrant and tantalising form of intimacy derived from intercourse; and which so often, time, place and the inter-step of two slowly emerging-consciousnesses permitting, will lead, like seeds will lead to shoots and burgeoning, pregnant clouds will lead to rain, slowly, surely, intrepidly and without hesitation to that most dizzying and enlivening journey up the whirling, inspiring vortex their sweet notes in the erogeny of touch and the joyful dance of neurons and synapses given only to the love of another, as our deepest and most systemic instinctive totem of being and feeling truly alive realises itself in an all-too-short but only-too-essential archetype from deep within, and outwith, the universe which we draw, so sweetly and sensually from the ether, like scoops of honey from a hive, in our truest and most devoted acts of of lovemaking. In those moments, we finally love ourselves for a brief and reassuring moment, bouyed, afloat in the atmosphere for at least a little while longer in this meandering, hopeful journey through life. These were the moments; the seeds; the warm, mistral winds of hope that Remi had forgotten and so badly needed to experience once again to give the sails of his souls one more push onwards in his quest for some semblance of reason; some explanation for the sadness and loss he had endured; some meaning to the lost lives of those he had loved beyond measure. Some kind of answer to avoid a day of reckoning descending upon which his soul was simply frozen and devoid. Put starkly- to feel and to live once again, at least for a moment or two of his remaining time. And this woman next to him, whom he had only just met the evening before, without knowing it, would be a catalyst for a chain of events – a happenchance in the maze of universal possibilities through which the paths of our lives must forage a direction of travel – that would transform both of their existences in ways which were, as yet, barely imaginable and which had they been able to foresee to any degree, would have left them with a most agonising of choices: whether or not to even step on to the ride ahead and hold on breathlessly with white knuckles in the hope of a transfiguring and ultimate denouement, or, assuming that the oft-illusion of free will even proffered an alternative choice in reality, to try to step off the rapidly departing train and return to lives of a far more certain and mundane unwinding. And how could they possibly have known that all of this lay ahead, ripe and latent within the touching of their naked bodies just initiated by Remi’s movement a mere 12 inches across the bed – an infinitesimal and cosmically unseeable shifting of organic atoms, triggering a momentous butterfly effect across the impenetrable equilibriums and harmonies of the universe. In reaching for the sublime, satin-like skin of Carmen just beside him, endorphins inside both already agitating, unbeknownst to their hosts, for the ecstasy of mind and body just ahead, Remi could not possibly know of the paradoxical and the mysterious quandary he suddenly posed to the forces of the world which we cannot grasp; of how this one touch, this one unconscious action could change everything ahead, for ever?