A few nights ago, I came home later than my lover expected. I’d been delayed on the return route; friends and not-yet-friends pressed on me to join them in a drink, or two. I had a vodka bottle to share, and left them with it.
She left planet earth when she found out I’d been drinking on the street. She went totally cow eyed on me – all glimmer and glint and shine from a rational mind gone – her eyes milky and glazed with cataracts of the unreachably insane.
Then out came the brinkmanship. She was leaving me, on the spot.
We had been three months into our mutual deception of romantic love, the perfume of it even in our dreams. In five minutes she would turn it all upside down, as if it were nothing.
When she loses it, she doesn’t lose just a bit of it, she loses all of it.
The next day of course, she was all about trying to get that lovin feeling back. “Do you still love me, Daddy? Am I still your wife? Your little bitch?”
But I’d lost that lovin feeling.
Her sanity had returned. My lover’s temper and mood are usually stable, and she is very loving.
I wonder, do all people sink into a hypnotic trance of feeling loved all over when they get a massage? Does touch automatically release those endorphins and oxytocin and feelings of warming slippery-sleepy touchy-feely intimacy? I like it when the afterglow of massage and kisses and sex lasts until the next fix.
It took three days of regular fixes for me to open to her again. She said “next time I go psycho, just ignore whatever I say. Only listen to me when I’m normal. Hit me if you want, do anything, just never let me go”. I don’t want to hit her in that context – I don’t want to go there.
Violence between lovers, for most of us, that subject is not even a topic that any words ever need to be spoken of. But is anything ever forever fixed and certain? I’ve heard stories and lived experiences that contradict and change what I used to know. Sometimes people want to feel forcefully owned. It makes them feel loved; safely contained; bounded by primal ties of family. But I don’t want to use violence, don’t want to need to, outside of a few very minor just for fun spankings and slaps in a sexual context of intimate love.
I have no heart remaining to keep my woman in line, when she knows she wants to remain in relationship and knows that I’ve done nothing outside of boundaries and knows that she is just going psycho out of control nuts. I just don’t have the heart for it, anymore. Been there. Tired of it. Tired to tears, limp wristed tired. So tired that if you ask me if I still love you, nothing I say will have any force behind it, and you will want to ask again and again.
But we’ve got that lovin feeling back. It has been 4 weeks since the last time she went totally out of it psycho. And our regular days are constant kisses and massage and laughter and sex and just hanging out empowering and loving and being good to each other.
I wonder how other people live. Isn’t it so good to have that lovin feeling? Don’t others try to live a life that contains that?
When I walk around any town, the lovers hand in hand are rare.
I know that I think that I’m all that, and I know it is a mis-perception. I accomplish much less than I think I’m capable of. Sometimes I’m full of it, and sometimes what I’m full of is myself. But I can’t help the perception that most people are the walking dead, and that I’m not, and that I’m better than that. Didn’t you feel that way as a teen in love? That the adults had all forgotten what love really is? People seem strangely dispassionate to me. I’m not always picky of who I take as a lover, but most have been ignitable, and most of us were at least once ignited. I suspect people get numb and deadened, don’t want to be wounded, and so become less vulnerable. But why not live as that teenager, live within that loving feeling?
I do. And I will. And if love leaves, then I leave and find love. I dis-respect the choices that others make – choices towards security. I do – I disrespect those choices. Am I arrogant to do that? Or are people closing down from a life fully lived? Music, wine, intimacy, art, all the things we can love, when we shut down from them, isn’t it possible to say, that is worse than not shutting down from them? I think we can say that embracing life is better than being deadened to it, and so I look down my nose at people who don’t fuck a lot, and passionately.
I take it personally to see people disregard what to me is an incredibly important human birthright. Some people throw away and dis-respect their right to be rational. I have no respect for that either. But throwing away all that sexuality can give – and it can give an immeasurable lot – that is like trashing planet earth with pollution – grave disrespect. Beethoven talked of God coming through to him in Music. Could he turn his back on that connection? What would he think of those that chose not to listen to the sublime possibilities in music. He’d likely be pretty snobby, I’d think. And what if he saw a friend, a virtuoso talent, give up music altogether? Wouldn’t it be an outrage against the voice of Spirit that communed to him?
I get really snobby, which is merely arrogant. I get outraged too. Which probably does no good to anyone – but there it is.
Update: Since I posted this, I’ve been wondering how my outrage can be projected shadow material. Why the outrage? Why not sadness at opportunities missed by others, or empathy at our common human predicament of settling for less? Perhaps my proseltizing zeal means I also question my values, but project that uncomfortable doubt outwards and then try to convert the disbelievers. I don’t like feeling outrage and feeling snobby. I hope the fault is an interior flaw I can fix.