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I Heard You

September 30, 2012

I heard you and did not enter back into your life in my ‘usual way’, not because I did not care, I wanted to see how the silence between us would unfold, how it would treat me, I wanted to see where the loss of trust in us would take me when not fighting against my feeling of loss, my indignation with Life, when not trying to catch a waterfall with a thimble or playing around with the ashes of phoenixes before they’ve risen; but, by some peculiar nature, I try the impossible sometimes because I can and by some even more peculiar nature it works, though I’ve learned for myself that fighting against my feelings does not work.

I wanted to see what would show itself outside of all trying, in other words, I wanted to feel the essence of our connection, not the products we, for the most part, lovingly exchanged, I wanted to spend some time outside of how it felt ‘to get’, I wanted to see where my life would start again from by standing alone in my desire to be near to you, to have that desire turn back perhaps and show me something I could not see in having it satisfied.

Admittedly, I was timid about weathering another storm between us too; trusting the weather our atmospheres conjured became an issue for me, while our issues slowly revealed themselves to be bigger than the Love and maturity it would take to nurse them back to health and harmony. I acknowledge that many times my quick I-know-better responses to our issues intertwined with what you had to say in such a way that I lost the contemplation-space, I took up that space with my designs, often ‘my take’ took too much that wasn’t mine to claim to have a proper and rounded understanding of. I appreciate now more that space that affords me the choice in what to say, how to say it, to feel it out, to respect where another is coming from, to even ask where they’ve been in the meantime while I’ve been thinking of what to say next while watching their lips move and not really listening.

I did want more of you instead of being invested in where I was going by standing beside myself; I gave many responses kneejerk-style, without seeing the halva-maker, as Rumi would put it, that a person can become addicted to the halva, its sweetness (self-satisfaction), so much that he misses seeing/acknowledging the cook (the whole world that supports his individuality), the hearts and soul-beings who gave/give it nest, gestation and all the ‘right’ approximations to manifest as ‘halva to the lips’, nothing shy of becoming, from spirit-recipe to physical, perfectly itself to the degree of how it meanders forwards from the fingertips to finally lay across the tongue, like a lizard on a boulder, soaking up the heat of Love’s midday sun… How that want of more of you could have been fulfilled I cannot even imagine, no more than I can imagine a one-petal-being calling itself a ‘flower’ or true-light becoming a greater false-darkness.

Like the halva-maker’s results, the sweetnesses from the makings of people’s hearts emanate their totalities with no end, it’s a banquet I want to acknowledge more and not turn back to selfish ways… The makings, it’s a picnic of the soul-sort, regardless of whether the Beloved shows up, when the checkered blanket is unfurled in the meadow, the ants dance, the yellow jackets know, the wind whispers the ingredients of the basket to all those secret ‘other- lovers’ nestled in the not-so-obvious-places, the places where Love shines so bright that sun’s go there and lay in special hammocks to take reprieves, to get a little advice when their brightnesses become too self-referential; I believe there are lovers inside each of us that happily dance with aloneness.

Did I ever have ‘enough’ in-between-contemplation-power to focus on keeping it? That’s certainly a question and its relative; I will not judge myself for not being wise enough to have been a better fool. I loved you, no matter the details that lay on the checkered blanket in the Meadow of We, I loved you not because there was an agreement to love, but because I simply had it to give since it arrived carrying me willingly, it flowed from me naturally, without experimentation or trying, although it wasn’t so simple to enact while in the atmospheres of distress or disharmony and I did not take its simplicity for granted since innocence isn’t necessarily always a sign of naïveté in me, it has now become a wise guide, the feelings that arise guide-like from my innocence, in that if I have to spend more time creating love than having it to give, then I am on the wrong path for me, for what I have to give.

The implications of change and constant maturing definitely resounded daily for me, sometimes needing the success of a lit match to find the torch to then light it to help find the matches again; my tomorrow is simply not clear-sailing for me no matter the wisdom I’ve gotten today. While in our relationship I changed for me, not for you, although it was ignited by you, ‘mirrored’ into realization of a greater truth in being me, so to speak, it was an exchange though and I acknowledge you in your ownerships of your issues and changes in light of me too. I smiled with each change because the Us was greater than the Me in respects to a better I am, that’s too mysterious to write about now…

I knew of your rightnesses and I knew of what were projections from both sides, eventually. It was the meantime before the eventually that challenged our embrace. No matter the brightnesses we shared, our shadows had to dance behind our moonlight. Honestly, in my perspective and how I see relationships, it takes far more than two to tango, there are the musicians as well, our individualities allow the We to exist, while exact predictions are for those who prefer to stand still and watch the dancers secretly changing Fate with their conjurations. We were not spectators, I feel that, we danced and strongly. Thank you for leading and surrendering, surrendering so to lead and so many beautiful moments.

I felt the acceptance of my love and yours, while understanding the climate I stood in and ‘eventually’ applies here too, the understanding varied. I felt and totally accepted the good mood my heart was in due to its approximation to yours while experiencing the picnic, while being experienced by the picnic’s unpredictable unfolding as well. It was incredibly healing and remotely familiar to feel a love-connection as a natural, quiet existence, an innate approximation to what was right in so many ways then, without allot of thinking and planning to affirm it or console its doubts with prizes and promises, it was its own reward.

There came a time when a very pragmatic storm rolled across my Meadow of Faith and the mountains we’d explored in could not stop its gale force winds, a sort of hurricane that can turn all kinds of solid things into etheric-lace, easily permeable and what was usually doable for me in continuing to dance with you turned to stepping back to really try and hear the music we were dancing to, to appreciate the results we conjured, the births we were to one another and how they were raising us as their parents.

No doubt there were times I wanted to enter the hope and faith of ‘magical-thinking’, but it had lost its thinking cap, for the better I believe and feel. That’s not to suggest that magical-thinking isn’t magical or that it doesn’t work, though being real to my day-to-day feelings and not aspirations has its place too and my wishes upon stars seemingly cannot help themselves but to get caught up in the strings attached to waiting for the results to answer ‘yes’, I’m working on that one. The success of magical-thinking? I believe it’s about where it jives and where it plays naively with hives, pulling a rabbit out of a hat in a lair of hungry wolves doesn’t entertain a second show… I’m learning to trust my feelings and not what ought to happen out of projecting my ego’s personal mythology onto others, especially a different species altogether.

Something roared in our jungle that had lions racing up trees, shivering next to well-aware-squirrels and the climate changed for better or worse, I cannot know, I feel lighter though, for the most part, there are cloudy days though, when I carry a blanket on my shoulders, monogrammed by Connection with our initials. Eternity’s hand knows no bounds in mesmerizing our thirst for growth and expansion. I believe our natures often grow very tall oaks (high hopes) so to often dazzle their tree-house windows with sparks, to test the resilience/residence of the heart, not to scare it with fear of forest fire, but to remind, to re-feel more occasionally than not, all the probabilities of our aspirations to truly feed our natures or distract.

So, large droplets began to fall and the nature of our picnic changed, the humble ants moved underground and the curious flies stopped buzzing, even bears didn’t dare wander outside the comfort of their dry lairs to satisfy hunger and the checkered blanket & basket became a water world of gestation and predicament. We stood up in the rain with no umbrella and understood that something had closed to open our hands to be free to feel something else or simply rest in prayer, softly clasped together and pointing up in praise of continuance, guidance in appreciation of the field surrounding our hearts, where storms come and go, though cannot stay in the drummer’s presence any longer than that drummer’s rain-dance, that tango with their own shadow being lead by the music of this living, alive world. May your days be filled with sunshine and may Love lead the way to unity and peace of mind, thank you sincerely; the smiles I achieved in the presence of our We guides me now in a new way.

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  1. Son: This is so awsomely beautiful.

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