Everything is...Illuminated

As I think of you…

I am listening to my friend Ramesh speaking a voice message via Whatsapp. I snicker because no matter our level of exterior accomplishment, no matter our array of experiences, no matter our age and our overall disposition, anything to do with emotions and liking someone sends us humans into a tailspin. Ramesh is a highly successful musical, cabaret performer and MC living in Vienna, Austria, who happens to be one of my closest childhood friends. In his message he mentioned meeting someone in a café last week, feeling the jitters and not knowing how to best approach the person. Needless to say, he receives fan mail by the load full and has admirers all over Europe and the US and yet…and yet…

I read recently that when we like someone we speak only one language…moronic. Either our cultural environment and influences hinder us in our free expression of the most celebrated, serenaded, precious experience we could ever call our own while on this plane, or it is something hard wired in us, which seems counter-indicative and counterintuitive, for if the evolutionary imperative is to mate and preserve and prolong the human race, we better start making some sense and develop our seductive/assertive arsenal.

If people like Luz can feel the way I feel – well, where does that leave humanity’s ability to cut through the bullshit, I am asking myself. 50-year old friends of mine tell of the same tale that seems to get more complicated and daunting as we age. It’s not that we are seemingly getting better at this entire relationship game, it appears the barriers made up of fear buttressed by protection, apprehension, suspicion etc. etc. are raised and fortified and are now made of steel. How is someone compatible to penetrate - and how can authenticity find a foothold? But I am digressing J

You mentioned the other day how my writing had changed in one of my emails (I promise the typewriter letter is in its conception stage – all I need is some uninterrupted time without looking at the clock calculating how many more minutes I have before getting ready for work – typewriter time demands going back in time and channeling Hemingway and Anais Nin and Henry Miller sitting before their typewriters and bleeding into them one word at a time, during leisurely afternoon hours) and yes, your letters that so easily could be included in a compendium of timeless love proclamations, move me to anchor myself with more resolve and even more courage inside the heart regions that leave little defense, if any, from the onslaught of emotional expression and sensation permeating the body when such relocation of the self occurs. I know I keep using the word, terrifying, and it absolutely and entirely is, but what is life without it? How can love be present without it? Love knows no opposite. Where there is love, there is no question, and it is always unconditional. Nothing is required other than being, allowing, surrendering, offering, and as I am with you, I feel the urge to do all of that, to shove aside the ego structures of my being who may have served me to some degree in the past but have no place in this moment in time – or rather outside of time. This is the vertical dimension I resonated with while reading Conversations with God, where all happens simultaneously, a heavenly overlapping of all of our possible actions in our human made time-space continuum. There is no separation of experience. It’s the all experienced now and so, when I dare allow myself to look at you, to take you in bathed in moonlight and surrounded by this beckoning silence past the witching hour, I find my eyes, my heart, and my spirit in simple awe…of you, of us, of this happening.

Only weeks ago, I thought myself dead. I wrote about this disconcerting numbness, this horrible feeling of being a Mother Goose, 93 years old, surrounded by metaphorical/imagined grandchildren and reflecting on a life lived several decades in the past. It was an extreme mental image but that is how this ‘sequedad’ made itself known to me. I had instances where I told myself that maybe my last passionate and romantic days (Amy Shumer has a funny skit on her show called The Last Fuckable Day) were over and that I was now moving on to a quiet, internalized stage in life. Thing is, there are always people around whom we could open ourselves to, but depending on the person, the reason for opening differs. For me, nothing short of an immense pull toward the person will do to take me out of my very own cozy little universe I created around me. It takes fucking fireworks; it takes something akin to ripping, tearing, forcefully extracting me out of all the small comforts I hold so dear and bait me with an alternative to such attractive, sought after solitude. It better be a juggernaut, a brunt force to which I have no choice but to submit. I knew I was faced with such force when you casually invited me to the Ibeyi concert. Despite external forces that day (long work week, exponential rain, driving down to Miami to a location I had never been to), despite internal trepidation (fear of not knowing what to talk about, fear of not being relaxed and behaving, yes, like a moron), I went home, took a shower, and drove down. There was in the end no doubt that I would meet you come what may. It was bigger than me and it felt like divine intuition and divine intervention. I let it be. I freaked out but I went.

There is this scene from the movie Pride and Prejudice, which I have looped over the years (between Carlos, my friends Lucy and Robyn, and me, this is probably our favorite romantic film) where Mr. Darcy and Lizzy Bennett meet inside a field at day break. The mist is rising and the surrounding countryside is bathed in a bluish glow. They approach each other and he dares to reiterate his wishes of being with her. One sentence always stuck out (probably to all who have come to love this movie): “You have bewitched me body and soul, and I love…I love…I love you. I don’t wish to be parted from you from this day on…” After hearing these words, I knew I wanted nothing short of that, even if it meant I may remain single for a long time, even if it meant that maybe this lifetime around it wasn’t going to be in the cards for me. In my persuasion, there cannot be something approximating such effusion. There cannot be a stand in, a distant or even near second. There is no trying things on even though one can tell that the sleeve isn’t  sitting quite right and the color isn’t really my cup of tea and the style, well, maybe if worn enough, it can grow on me…no, to me, that is not appealing and not what I am going for. Mr. Darcy, after seeing the film in the early 2000s, became the quintessential Prince Charming, the One, the singularity of all things passion, ecstasy and Love. I have often been termed a hopeless (although I declare it being a “hopeful”) romantic. I have been told that I am expecting too much and that I need to allow more people in. It may be so. I am not saying that I am right and others are viewing and assessing intimate interludes from the wrong vantage point. To each their own. It’s about what we are willing to wait or settle for. I’d rather have less but feel more of it when it does happen, rare as it is. Maybe, possibly, most certainly that is also where the terror comes from. To some, disbanding from a person intimately and romantically is painful, yes, but hey, there are so many more fish in the sea, a smorgasbord of choice and interesting unions waiting to be explored…and that is beautiful, wonderful, if such is where you align. I have often marveled at how people rebound so quickly and move on and are moved by such a myriad of human offerings. Alas, I don’t operate that way. I can’t force myself or all becomes diluted, becomes blah, and blah simply sucks (well, again, to me). My friend Neil told me once that to him, energy exchange is a sacred act and that therefore he keeps himself from engaging in too much promiscuous action. He compares this energy we receive from people we are with to “horcruxes” that remain with us, latch onto us and linger after the person departs. In this vein, we better take heed whom we let in…the analogy resonated with me and I as well try to be careful whom I am allowing to see me; however, when it happens, it is an attraction that is so powerful and potent that it overrides reason and rhyme, caution and care. I tumble into it, fall head first, imagination first, heart first into this possible Wonderland where I am God and behold God. The mirror, mirror on the wall - is enticing and alluring and practically irresistible in that moment. This is intensity. It’s a force that moves us, instead of us doing the moving. It seems inscribed in our genes. We could very likely have decided upon this encounter in the in between when we prepare ourselves for our next spin on this delightfully confusing planet.

I like to believe that I placed you in my path my dearest Sicilian. I see so many of my wishes come manifest in you, so many of my innermost desires appear before my eyes. You seem the culmination, the ascending step, the One atop the rest. You are the Cantus Firmus that includes those who came before and affix what was formerly ephemeral and in hindsight deemed unreal and maybe unrealistic. You bring all back into focus, all the possibility that had been relegated to the wayside, that had been carried to some off-world location only to be thought of in nostalgic hues. Suddenly, it is right here, smack! in front of my face, and I cannot avert my eyes, I cannot avert my heart, I simply cannot hide behind all of my excuses. I have lived passionate lives inside my head while walking endless miles around Rock Creek (my favorite suburban neighborhood). I have pictured myself emboldened, and strong, and decisive, and determined in whom I wished to commune with. It its time that I experience a different reality, one where I am not the director of all the gestures, all the reactions, all the melting into each other. In fact, in all of my reveries I stop short of going to where it will invariably become uncomfortable for a short while, because it means that I need to show face. Fantasy can never replace the variations that imbue reality.

Seeing you last night with your torso towering over my frame, your shaggy hair falling around your face, Ariel came to mind, powerful image of the Lion, Sire of the animal kingdom and I felt ensorcelled by his presence. I wished to mount and surrender to him; I wished to be made one with him; I wished to tear out the linear modality of the mind and jump into a space where up and down have no say, do not have incremental sense. You inspire in me that which I dared not imagine only weeks ago. I am afraid I will fail and remain tethered to a puny mind that is hell bent on creating limitations. But this fear no longer serves me. I do not want to sabotage something so beautiful and glorious and divine, divinely inspired and brought into being. I wish to commune with you in Every Possible Way. I am standing in the clearing and the mists are lifting. I am looking out, and all I see…is You.