If Only I Could Be Other Than Me

My latest hobby has become avoiding writing.  I’m a natural, what can I say… But today, there is SO much inside me.  And I have been blogging in my head for hours now and saying all sortsa brilliant and embarrassing stuff.  Of course now that I’ve entered the pearly gates of Athena Graceland, I recall none of it…

 

But what I really feel like doing here on the page, is unapologetically unleashing the unsightly facets of my humanity.  Honestly… I’m sick of striving for such rigid strains of perfection and consciousness.  It makes my butt hole ache.  Wink.  I also want to give you a report on the amazing urban spring time music that is pouring through my wide open windows.  I have a low tolerance for “real” music these days.  Mostly, I find it overstimulating and agitating.  So I’ve taken to really listening to the music of the world.  It’s often brilliant, actually.  A cornucopia of various species of horny birds sprinkle the lucid, sunny evening with lyrical joy.  And a shhhhhushhh of traffic smooths the sonic space like a soft, frictional continuum.  Add in an occasional train whistle to penetrate all the passive feminine whisper tones.  The distant, imperceptible voice of a child inscribes the moment with innocence.  A car horn adds a jolting top note of sharp immediacy.  Sirens smear across the soundscapes like spicy finger paint.  All of this washes over me so subtly, I’d miss it if I didn’t listen.

 

Dan always preached that life is THIS MOMENT.  The moment is all that we truly have, all that is real.  I’m sitting indian style on my bed.  My back is slightly hunched.  The sun is waning and the tulips and daffodils in the vase at my bedside have become withered, but they still have charm.  In my heart, a dull ache croons.  Like a wide suck.  Like a painfully dense gravitational field.  I shared an intimate encounter with a man on saturday afternoon, and when I told Ed about it, he had a deep, intense reaction.  Ya know, hurt, fear… that stuff.  My commitment to myself has been to fully reveal myself every step of the way in our relationship, regardless of the impact.  Because what is the use of misrepresenting myself; acting like I’m someone I’m NOT, someone I imagine HE wants me to be… just so I can get his love.  The cost of that is self love and self respect.  Expensive…

 

I knew he would be upset.  And I was so tempted to contort the truth so that I would not face the fatal possibility of losing his love.  His love is a potent, life-vivifying, heart-amplifying drug.  I want to clutch it with knuckles whiter than snow or blow.  But that’s not the game  I really want to play, so I shared with him.  He sucked in on himself and burst into quiet flames of pain.

 

And just for the record, I want YOU to know that in MY world, even as I shared sweet, sensual, loving moments of life with this other guy, Ed was emblazoned in my heart and I conducted the encounter in a way that I felt honored what Ed and I share.  In MY world.  But not it Ed’s world.

 

It was my fever dreamy hope that sharing all of this with Ed would bring us closer.  Because we’d get to expose ourselves.  Our desires, fears, vulnerabilities.  And from there, fashion a stronger, deeper container for the sacredness we share. But alas, it seems to have set us further apart, placed a wedge between our hearts.  I know, I know, he’s MARRIED.  And even though we were both ACTING like we were in a Relationship… we are not.  We never made any commitments, boundaries, agreements or any such structures that would serve as a sacred container to grow our love.  How could we?  His life is an intricately tangled ball of yarn.  I guess in reality, all we really have are the moments we share.  And the moments we share are sublime.  But god, I wish I could order a deluxe subscription to Forever with him…

 

But maybe this expansive, educational and certainly salacious affair has run it’s course.  Frown.   Because he’s too jealous of my way of sharing myself with other men.  I can be quite flirtatious and sensual, melting open just by virtue of my nature.  And this causes him to feel like his guts are being ripped out.  I guess we’re not right for each other.

 

YES.  It’s true that I have been living in fantasy land.  Hoping that “some day” we would be together for real.  He’d come home from his late night shift on the police force (!!!!) and crawl into bed with ME, and spoon me to the end of love.  In the morning, he’d make me tea and kiss me all over and send me off into the subtle waves of self-disciplinary bliss that is my sadhana.  And blah blah blah insert every nuance of saccharine happily ever afterdom imaginable here: _____________________. (Be sure to include giving me a baby…)

 

Yes, I am so aware that all of this might sound like the words of a wounded, dysfunctional, fevered soldier.  Totally.  But fuck trying to present myself as all perfect and smoother than thou, like a porcelain collectable.  I’m a flawed and flailing specimen of a divine human being just like you.  Except I’m ME.  And now for the really sick and awesome part!!!

 

I told Ed that my bottom line was that if we’re gonna continue our devotional and profoundly intimate soul spelunking together, he would have to be willing to grow with me, and build a relationship founded in Love and abundance, rather than fear, scarcity, attachment to the past and socio-familial programming.  He said he wasn’t sure if he wanted that or not and he’d have to think about it.  He said he’d reach out to me when he had an answer.  Up until now, we haven’t gone more than three hours without talking… in many months.  Except when we’re sleeping.  When he told me this, MY guts ripped out.  My heart, my belly, my pussy.  Everything sucked out of me, in a reckless instant of invisibly gory death.  So I prayed.  All I can do is keep praying.  Because God knows best.  It’s just excruciating to lose my best friend and lover.  He was the centerpiece of my life.

 

In an ideal world, I’d have SOMETHING… Some compelling purpose… besides love and relationship… that occupied the limelight of my life.  I guess.  But the truth is, from inside out, I am most compelled by love, sex and intimacy.  Love me or leave me.

 

And the laughably sick part, is that I feel so disgustingly tempted to throw myself at his feet and through waves of sob and orgasmic gasp, promise that I will CHANGE.  Promise that I am only HIS, to possess and contain, forever and forever.  Yes, Ed, strangle me and suffocate me with your huge, fear-stained love!!!!!  Or maybe I’ll beg HIM to change!  Beg him to be who I want him to be.  Someone who is willing to kiss his security and comfort and socially acceptable image goodbye and dive with me into the deep and seductive waters of the Unknown and trust our amazing love to be strong enough to keep us together, so that we may dig a wishing well of devotion and intimacy SO DEEP that we reach china, and keep digging, far into the vast black expanse of the star-strewn and awe-drenched multiverse.  PLEASE CHANGE ED!!!! Please want to grow with me.

 

If only we fit the perfect shapes of each other’s expectations… Sigh… At the core, before conditioning and habits and belief systems, our souls fit together like Cinderella’s foot slid into the glass slipper at the hand of her dashing prince.  But then comes all of the dense, sedimentary layers of physical reality…  and the perfection is smashed like a crystal bird whose jagged shards flash and flutter about the expansive marble dance floor.

 

And really… I want to be someone who trusts and loves God more than any finite form.  I feel the cold, gnawing devastation of this perceived loss of Ed in my life… and I imagine myself being thrust into involuntary, premature sainthood.  Fuck the perpetual imperfection of loving men.  Take me straight to God, where I may rest and bless for all of infinity.  Show me the real world. Inside.

 

If only I could let go…

 

I don’t fucking want to let go.

 

Live,

A

 

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