Divine Pollen

First I prayed for mediation from Amenominakanushi. Humbly I begged him to intercede, to couple me. To make Izanagi-no-Mikoto invite me. To make him feast in my youth. To make him forget Izanami’s primal beauty now she’s rotting in Yomi-no-kuni. To make him bring into me the fecund energy that begot, in the midst of this ocean, the magnificent island where I was born. To make me be his modest recipient.

But I also appealed, just in case, to other male kami. I prayed to Siddhartha Gautama and Miroku Bosatsu, the 5th Buddha, who is yet to come. I adorned the altar for my stolen figure of Daikokuten, avatar of destructive Shiva, whose goodwill I implored. I begged that Yesu Kirisuto rose again from the dead, just like the phallus once rose on Osiris’s green corpse in the sailing sarcophagus, and I pleaded that Magdalene’s resurrected lover would wait for me, as if I was Isis flying to him in the guise of a hawk to become his wife.

And so on.

So I am overjoyed that my prayers were heard. I was touched by the gods. And I got a lot more than I bargained for. Flowers grew from wood. This is ecstasy. Now that all the winged tenshi are gone, my body barely touches the ground, stunned in the knowledge that I’m holding, inside me, the virile seed of the Heavenly Ancestral God of the Originating Heart of the Universe, Amenominakanushi, the absolute.