She is Love, (More Musings on Love, Part Two)

...and I do believe her when she speaks..

What is a soul mate? It’s a term that gets tossed around a lot, relegated now mostly to Nicholas Sparks novels and their subsequent film adaptations.

However, its origins aren’t found in some lake house in North Carolina, but somewhere near HERE:

Everyone possesses a soul. Our souls are like pieces to something greater: an origin point. Across time and history, when we die, our souls divide. Each half, or shard, or whatever you choose to call it enters into a new human vessel for rebirth. The process repeats. So, one then becomes two, which later on becomes four and in turn eight and so on. It’s easy to imagine this in terms of cell division, the blueprint by which the universe expands and grows.

It accounts for why the world’s population was by leaps and bounds smaller a hundred, five hundred, a thousand years ago.

Anyhow, moving forward: There are others, separated from us sometimes by oceans and time zones that carry in them a corresponding piece. There is a part of them inside which was once a part of us, a long, long time ago. We begin our search for this person from the very moment we are born.

"You complete me." That term never gets old. That’s because it’s as timeless as this migration of souls, this process of reincarnation.

That’s the story, take it or leave it. But whether conscious of it or not, we are always looking for something, for someone. It is a mechanism, awareness from deep inside that I believe is separate from, and supersedes conscious judgment and thought. It is that unexplained apprehension we feel; a void or emptiness we can’t fill; a primal call on some strange frequency beckoning us to migrate, like something out of a Jack London story. It is what responds to that special light behind the eyes of another.

These beliefs precede many of the world’s existing religions, and are prevalent metaphors in several of them. (Think Adam’s rib, and that certain lady whom possesses it after it’s removed from him...That corresponding part both he and Eve share that was a piece of the original human design.)

"True love" is just that: our soul’s recognition of it’s counterpart inside of another. It is also the energy, the beacon, the waves we send out and the means by which we locate it.

For many, or honestly, for most, it never happens. Some dilute the importance of such a thing; a mere selling point for greeting card companies and romantic comedies. They con themselves into thinking it doesn’t exist, or they don’t need it. Still many others hold fast to this utilitarian viewpoint for all things. They weigh the value of their relationships with one another as though they were commodities, a process akin to buying a car:

"Well, we’ve been together this long, and we already live together; Well, she’s hot—I mean, she’s pretty hot, don’t you think?; Well, he can put up with me; She lets me do whatever I want; He has a great job and takes care of me; Well, at this point in my life...I probably can’t do any better...I’m almost 30, for heaven sakes! It makes sense, doesn’t it?"

NO. No it does NOT make sense.

"I just need a companion; a presence that fills the room..."— Then get a DOG, for Christ sakes. Or a parrot—those possess (albeit in a limited capacity) the power of speech.

Still some do believe. They believe so deeply and want it so much that they rush the process. Eventually, in their desperate quest to find it they project things onto people that never existed. Others know full well they aren’t there at all, but the idea is that it’s better than being alone. Right?

When actively looking for something it seems hopelessly out of sight. It’s a search for a gold cache in the black hills while the wind bites especially hard.

The Zen masters advise us not to seek, for all shall come to us; to enter every situation without expectations; to substitute thinking for doing, and reacting; to get back to us, to simply BE. This is sound advice, and it starts somewhere near here.

Part the first, I think...

By living without the censorship of self-conscious thought, we project a clear, complete version of ourselves. We are confident, motivated, inspired. We learn, live and grow. We are beautiful in this way.

Part the second is to infuse love into everything we do. If everything we do is done out of love, from cleaning to cooking, to writing to painting, to sculpting our bodies to clearing our driveways of old, wet leaves (that mostly aren’t ours in the first place, but anyway--) we send this power out as a signal, a beacon whereby our match can correspond, wherever they are.

I guess for those languishing alone, it’s about nurturing not just the hope but the faith that if our eyes and ears and hearts are always open, if we trust in the goodness of the world and dance to its music, we will find that person. If we lose them, we’ll find them again...

I Hope...

For those who have settled into loveless, empty, plateaued relationships, remember you are entitled to something much better. We really DO have everything we need to be happy on our own, I think, though some days, maybe even a good stretch of days, the solitude can become torturous.

There is a small upside to it all: there is more than one perfect match. In fact by this logic, we may have a few soul mates. In one lifetime, though rare, we may discover more than one other incarnation of our souls. If we let our own receptors operate, they'll sense it when it comes near. It’s important we don’t dull them with the banter of our minds, our anxieties, our bitterness, our crises, etc..

Never lose patience. Don’t be afraid to be alone for a while. Listen for the thunder. Remember, they are looking for us as well.

All The Love Gone Bad, (More Musings on Love, Part One)

"..Turned my world to black..."

(It’s been almost a month since my last post. I have no excuse; other than my center of abstract thought took a vacation and the more languid part of my brain covered his hours. My muse is fickle, and I’ve just generally been in a bit of a rut. For those that read, I’m grateful, and I will try and keep up in the future.)

In my life I’ve been treated to a Whitman’s Sampler of how the bonds of love and relationships are cheapened and perverted.

In my own family I’ve seen people settle time and again for second, third, or even places where medals aren’t usually handed out.

It’s been one divorce after another. Bickering, slandering; no evidence that anything higher, or stronger than enmity and hostility ever existed. Everyone literally hates everyone else. What they think they have is transparent and empty, and they jump from one person to the other, using them up and moving on. It’s as though their relationship with each other is no different than their relationship with a pair of shoes, or a rental car.

All around me, peers, friends, neighbors and still more family have been continuously unfaithful and abusive towards one another. Both ends lack any real sense of appreciation for, or understanding of the other. They are impatient with one another and selfish. They stare at every other passerby muttering "I wish..." They become estranged.

So, I know what love isn’t. But I know what it is too; the three magic words and the weight they carry. Sometimes you recognize a person by their scent, their taste, their voice; the tactile memory of their skin. In darkness, in complete and utter blackness you can find your way back to them. No measure of depth or breadth space or time could keep you from seeking that person's light.

When bathed in that light, each one of our faculties is set ablaze. With them we are constantly learning, and discovering new places geographic or otherwise. Everything we are, everything we offer shines and washes over one another.

Around them we are inspired, motivated. Their presence pushes us to try harder. Behind their eyes are this life and energy, as well as warmth and support and kindness.

With them we share the similarities, of course, but just as many differences. Maybe "differences" is the wrong word. I hate the term "opposites attract." There are no "opposite" forces, only complimentary ones. Two people compliment one another.

It’s a waltz: each one takes a lead, while the other feels out the steps and follows unselfconsciously, discovering and exploring and learning anew. Each one offers the other a new perspective, a new way of looking at the world, at something they may have missed, or a glimpse into something totally different. Over time, it evolves and matures, becoming as Bruce Lee observed "like coals, deep burning and unquenchable."

Then there’s the physical component.

Yeah. Sex.

Often called lovemaking by representatives of the R&B and Soul communities. I know. I was never too fond of the term either. Isn’t it just another PC, Billboard Top 40 term for sex, the overly Christianized canonization of fucking?

No. At least lately I don’t think so. Its sex in the context of love: Unselfish, often spontaneous, and untiring. It is to be so close, intertwined so complexly and deeply that neither person can tell where they begin and the other ends. Their breaths are synchronized; they know each others' rhythms, compliment their movements. They’ve memorized every curve. One pushes and the other pulls. One pulls, and the other pulls harder.

Think it can’t ever be this good? That I’m over-hyping it? Think sex is overrated? Then you aren’t doing it right.

If it all sounds rare, bordering on impossible to some, that’s because, well, it is. To find another who evokes all this inside is to catch a bolt of lightening in a glass bottle. Timing it just right; listening for it, reading it and being in the right spot because it never reveals itself there more than once. Then there’s having to courage not to flinch. It’s a lot isn’t it? It doesn’t always happen. But it can. And once in a while, it does...

Musings On Love: Attraction

There is something cathartic and ceaselessly amusing in simply sitting back, and watching a plump house pet. Whether impossibly cute or entirely repugnant, observing their hastened waddle across a newly mopped kitchen floor, the way they labor to keep up with the nimbler, more lithe animals of the neighborhood, chase around their zigzagging food bowl, slosh through their drinking water, or suffer through the heat of the day just makes my life seem suddenly less of a struggle.

With a wide grin I cannot fully explain, I pat its fur-coated back fat, and while ruffling its jowls with both hands I chuckle with affectionate empathy, and say in my baby voice, "Oh, you poor little bastard!"

And yet, when they rest their heavy, wet faces on your lap, or spin their awkward fuzzy bodies into a pile on top of you, you can’t help but be taken with the genuine enthusiasm for where they are and surprisingly warm, well meaning nature. There is nowhere in the world they would rather be, and it shows. Despite the drool and the sloppy kisses, you feel the same way.

I have witnessed relationships that seem to function in MUCH the same manner.

I have known guys far less than perfect who defied all shallow peer expectations by charming the hearts and minds of class-A beauties. From a distance it seems as though these women, intelligent, attractive, and talented have either based their choice solely on commodity, or that strange, love-pity hybrid. But up close, astonishingly, they are very much in love, or are well on their way. They connect on every level; enjoying each others company, and a mutual physical and emotional spark.

Over time I came to view the good fortune of these peers with a mixture of satisfaction and frustration. On one hand it was great to see people of real substance and goodness come away with something great, desirable, and meaningful. On the other hand, it has truly sucked to see other people hook things that were great, desirable and meaningful.

I suppose it’s because I came to view myself in the same light. While not fat, or hairy, I believe I too possess a certain ragamuffin dog appeal, like the male lead from Lady and the Tramp, or a canine Oliver Twist. A bit shy, ever loyal and well meaning, I’m the thin, possibly underfed, under loved pup with a heart of gold and a patch of dingy brown fur over his eye that you can’t fathom, because the rest of me is off-white in color. I’ve got the big eyes that howl "Take me home!" My nubs of ears suggest I made a little extra scratch wrestling raccoons in back alleys. If I had a resume attached to my makeshift, fishbone collar, it may read:

*Affectionate
*Works well with other pets (and children)
*Can herd sheep (and children)
*LOVES peanut-butter (...)
*Does not bite (too hard...)
*Guard Dog: will watch the house, the tv, the stove (and children)
*Toilet trained
*Proficient in sit, lie down, play dead, fetch, reverse-lie down, etc...

...Among other things.

There may be this desire for you to throw money at me. Perhaps that’s the reason I might be seen with a hobo at first.

So I lack the superficial purebred features of a Great Dane, or the intimidation factor of a Rottweiler. I can’t compete with a Golden Retriever in ruggedness either, but so what? Those are just images, is any of that honestly important? I’m the dog you really want. I can jump through all the hoops, and more.

Take me home, Dammit!

Repeatedly Reproached, or kicked to the roadside, I couldn’t understand what I was doing wrong. Were people really that critical, and elitist? Well, Some are for sure.

Then my mind got moving...

There is another familiar side to the image I’m channeling. It’s one of a dog that always seems to be cold, and shivering. It sometimes cloisters itself away rather than approach people. Upon being reached out to, it may quiver nervously, a clear sign it’s been hurt before. Disaffected, it projects itself as though there is something wrong with it, as though it were somehow aware that that brown patch doesn’t match the rest of it. Hopeful, it may follow you around after this.

The revelation that hit me was a bit painful.

If such an animal were to amble over to me seeking affection I would find myself thinking, "Hell, this thing needs SHOTS, not hugs and kisses." I would approach it from a strict distance with an obligatory kindness, and respect mixed with sprinklings of pity and discomfort.

I suppose if I couldn’t imagine letting my canine alter ego bury its head in my lap, I couldn’t much less imagine a woman allowing my less shaggy true self to do the same in hers.

...

Oh I get it; it’s a post about how his love life sucks!

Well, no, not entirely. This isn’t designed to be a bitter, self-loathing rant. I am not weeping with my hands in the air, beckoning the love deities yelling WHY?! If that were the case, I would have learned nothing at all. Instead, more so than being an outlet, I hope this shines a spotlight on an understanding I’ve come to that maybe will help other nice guys like me.

At almost twenty-four, I learned these lessons late. I’ve had my heart bruised many times to finally grasp them.

There is this loud and clear projection of something defined and unique, this confident embodiment of what people believe, BY those people. It is what attracts. Intrigues. Captivates. It is sexy.

In Neil Gaiman’s novel, American Gods, Loki, the trickster from the Norse pantheon illustrates this point perfectly when he describes the essence of god-hood to the novel’s protagonist Shadow:

"It’s not magic. It’s about being you, but the you that people believe in. It’s about being the concentrated, magnified essence of you. It’s about becoming thunder, or the power of a moving horse, or wisdom. You take all the belief and become bigger, cooler, more than human. You crystallize."

But what proof is there when you don’t believe it yourself? Or if the projector is broken or damaged, or the essence fractured somehow? People can’t believe in, or grow with something that isn’t whole.

Sure those awkward looking pets may seem pathetic at first, but on the other hand, a stately fat English bulldog seems to thoroughly enjoy the simpler things in its life, and in doing so, reminds and encourages you to do the same. They run about unselfconsciously with such vigor, unaware of any of the shortcomings or imperfections I or anyone else may perceive about them. Wherever they are headed, they’re well on their way.

It’s in those very subtle displays that they let what is best in themselves shine, and because of that, bring out the best in whomever they are around.

In the end, that’s one of the most meaningful, heartfelt compliments anyone can hear:

"I am at my best, when I am with you."

So, if the pieces are all in place, if you believe that you can breathe fire, then breathe it: brightly, fiercely, whatever shade or color it is. Maybe next time out proves greater than just another lesson to be learned. (Try not to burn anyone of course...)