The Sun and Moon are wed. The alchemical wedding, follwed by the alchemical orgy. Fire confronts water, both are defeated and destroyed, leaving no evidence of their battle but scalding steam and sweat.

The fist lesson is anticipation.

The second is pressure.

No human word is sufficient for the third lesson.

The whole process starts slow, two objects in mutual admiration and disagreement. A war of fingers and teeth and tongues. Words are woefully neglected, their subtle power overlooked and overshadowed by the overwhelming force of skin and friction. Both bodies trying to stimulate the other, thereby stimulating themselves. But, they are still two objects. Still Sun and Moon. Still separate, not yet eclipsed. Still separate entities struggling for dominance or submission in a game whose rules only the combatants understand.

They continue, each gaining a foothold against the other, each moving in ways unique to each other, but writhing on an inevitable course. Still Sun and Moon, but now, the eclipse is visible, the sun reaching around the Moon’s delicate hips as they gyrate against him. His fiery fingers seen behind her curves, reaching out. The more she blocks his light, the more intense his light and the darker her shadow.

Finally, at the end, the conflict is turned against itself as both move in a singular motion, their voices calling out with a singular voice. There is nothing unique about them now. Both are the same. They have become each other, each struggling to please the other, but there is no other, only Self. No more Sun and Moon. Only the singular eclipse. We do not see two entities but a single phenomenon.

And if we were to look at it with our naked eye, the sight of it burns not only our retinas from our skulls, but burns the image into our imagination for all time. An image we carry every day, every moment, even onto the last moment. The thing we crave more than any other. To lose our self, to become the other, to be destroyed down to nothing.

Just sweat and steam.