My life is a climax.

Walking from my rental room to the net cafe is love making. Firstly, the open ended fibres and filaments of breath of love my open heart generates and drinks from in all moments. Then there are the people I see. It’s like an Andy Grifith episode here, everybody is so genuinely friendly and simple and human. Children laughing in the streets -even a crowd of them singing, sometimes. Children running out of the house to greet me. Old men or women walking up to me and grabbing my hand with drunk style eyes, asking me if I love the heart of their town. At night I may wander out in search of young drinking companions, and my street will have them.

And my woman loves me. She calls me Daddy and means it, and that is not something I’ll be able to explain – that emotion won’t transcribe into words. She once brought me to uncontrollable orgasm just with the sincerity of how she called my pet name. She’s out of town for 5 days for a family wedding, but sends me earnest txt messages of how many times she has dreamt of me, or how often she thinks of me, or what she wishes I could do to her now. Even before I met her, I felt in love.

I’m such a fucking bastard that no one is beneath me. I’m shedding the ability of contempt, shedding shyness, because no one also can judge me as worse than a bastard. But humor and love remain. For all of us shitty assholes.

My life is a climax. The painful years of yearning, the diligence of prayer to open in love, the many years meditating and studying, the fact of years. If you are attentive to your ways, won’t the fullness of time and spirit grow?

It is easier here, in Monada. Each time you look at someone, as Mr. Western Ambassador, your are given the privilege to love them, and to be loved.

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