There are times when women leave my life en masse.  Not just this one, or that one.  But all the women with whom I’ve developed some form of relationship.  And all with amazing synchronicity.  It’s funny because I’m pretty sure that each one individually sees only herself ‘withdrawing’—each sees only her own diminishment of relationship with me.  But they don’t see what I see: each of them as  a 'self' but also as an aspect of femininity.  And, cosmically, all of them as the summation of femininity, perhaps Goddess herself, concomitantly soaring away upon a changed air current. 

At such moments, I am non-judgmental.  Though to me it collectively appears prima facie  as a fundamental shift in the dynamics of how I’m being treated,  I’m neither paranoid nor inclined to suspect a cosmic conspiracy.  Rather, I find myself in awe of such patterned synchronicity, and recognize, most importantly, that it is I  who have disappeared from the feminine radar just as certain as 'radio contact' was lost with the gliding spacecraft Columbia. 

I know I 'disappear' at times.  But unlike Columbia, I’m not disintegrating and crashing, but rather flying below the radar and just above the treetops—more like a Columbian drug runner skirting detection.  But this disappearance isn’t necessarily physical, or communicative, or social—but more precisely psychic .  I often soar and roar at psychic heights but there are times…there are times…. 

I’m looking down from just above the jungle’s 3^rd canopy upon a being—myself, in fact, who’s looking up at me.  I’m a flyby witnessing myself alone amidst endless wilderness, falling to earth without further loss of altitude.  But how could that be?  How could I possibly forge myself into such endless solitude given the gregarious life I lead?  And if this isn’t something I’ve electively chosen, why has the grip of descent thus embraced me?  Could it be by such forced maneuvering that Fate or the Fates protect me (from?...enemies?) ?

I can see the monkeys playing in the trees now.  And I hear them screeching primordially. Ah—they’re screeching at me!  Hey, I’m within their threshold of the liminal.  And their screeching tells me that unto Nature itself I yet relate, albeit mysteriously.  So I will hold my altitude (do I have a choice?)—until the grip of ascent re-embraces me.

Some say this is a ‘bird’s eye view’, but these are wolfen eyes that see the shifting of thresholds and the en masse mysterious distancing of the Feminine.