Sunday, November 15, 2009


To say that my lover and I communicate well is an understatement. It is very freeing to know that there is nothing that I cannot bring into the forum for discussion between us. Better to admit we are not mind-readers and instead reach out to each other with eyes and hands and mouths, straining to bridge the gap between Self and Other, to know, and to be known. Sometimes it is very intense, especially the struggle to find words to express the complexity and ambivalence of past relationships.

I accept that my current state of being could best be characterized as "dazed" and he does too. He worries a bit, but he knows that when I have them, I will reach out to him with words. In the meantime, I reach out to him with my heart, and his eyes meet mine and he is there, smiling gently at me, his arms slipping around me, his scent enveloping me. I rest my cheek on his shoulder and brush his neck with my lips.

"Still no word," he said. It was not a question.

The last email from My Beloved that had any real content was on the 12th. Since then, two "emails from the open road", one short and apologetic, one short and about... coffee. I've mailed him in the interim, expressing a willingness to work on carrying our heart-connection forward in our lives if he is willing to be open and vulnerable with me, as I am with him. No real word back, nothing substantive. The analytical side of me recognizes that he is probably still processing and taking care with his responses, but the feeling side of me wishes, if that were the case, that he would at least say as much.

Too restless to do sitting meditation, I did walking instead, along the stretch of Ocean Beach. The sun was warm, the wind cold, and the sand was a bit of both, and damp, underfoot. I focussed on the physical dynamics of walking, enjoying the animal-body I inhabit, appreciating it for all it does without need for conscious oversight. I allowed myself to feel my body, to feed my awareness of it, to notice the places where tension had accumulated, and to explore the emotions the little knots held as I caused them to relax. My body is the bridge between my inner and outer worlds, and my mind the road, sometimes smooth, sometimes bumpy.

The irony of meditation is that struggling with the chatter of my mind puts the clarity and simplicity I seek farther and father out of reach.  Best to accept the chatter, to notice it without judging it, or myself. My ego-self struggles, sometimes even flails about, but my spiritual self is balanced, calm, content. To touch it, I have only to cease identifying with the ego-self and its chatter.

What will be, will be. I released the anxiety and anguish into the wind for the second time in the same day, zipped up my coat, and drove home with the top down, drove home to my lover, who met me at the door with sympathetic eyes and a warm hug. The best communication of all :)

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