One walks just barely ahead of the many stories that forever tag behind.
The moon was a dim blur behind rain clouds, growing dimmer - like certain memories (and unlike certain other memories) - as the walk continued.
Killdeer settled in the hayfields spook away as we pass.
And half a mile later the beavers remember to thunk the fire pond with their heavy (tear-shaped) tails.
"Orgasmic" was the best word, actually. Revelation is intensely sexual - or perhaps it's better to say that intense sexual experience approximates (poorly and briefly!) revelation. Hence desire, hence repression, hence et cetera. I talked to a Buddhist monk a long time ago about celibacy and he thought about it and then said, giving up sex is not hard when life itself is ejaculatory. My own efforts to describe revelation have failed precisely because I'm sensitive about using "come" as a verb in mixed company. In other words: your point was well-taken and not in any way mis-taken.
Be patient with your lust, and its absence, and try not to judge its various incarnations. We aren't bodies, but we aren't red-winged blackbirds either, and we manage to love them just fine. I appreciate a tall glass of cool water after walking and guilt doesn't enter into it so . . . like that.
Some of the stories mentioned a few sentences back are painful and insistent. For example, I told you my cousin has four sons but in fact she has three - Jayce, Braden and Patrick. I woke up the other morning (the morning we made up), and thought: why did I imagine a fourth brother? And then felt very sad and empty, thinking: I know why I added the fourth brother.
Right now I'm making coffee. The last of last year's winter squash is on the counter, fitting as we this week begin nurturing ground for the new garden (the new community). The twentieth sentence, properly understood, is the end of nothing.