The Way Of Love Is Not

This, dear reader, will be my last post on this site. I am finished here. It's not to say that my writing is complete, no, I will continue but I need to focus on other matters and explore a different venue for a time.

More to the point though. If you've followed my posts you realize that I started this venture as a way to chart some of the feelings I was dealing with. These were in response to crossing paths with someone who affected me deeply. I'm still not sure why I gave her permission to reach me so. I don't regret it but it's time to move on.

In general, I've always kept my affairs light and non-consequential, ever ready to leave when the wind blows in a different direction. Here I forgot that and settled into being committed, not only to a person but to a concept. Funny though, I never got the same from her. That was a hard lesson to learn. She said once that a soul mate is someone who pushes your buttons. So true.

Instinctively when we met I knew I wanted to be caught, have my soul dredged, shaken in some unknown fashion. This scared me deeply yet I had a foreshadowing that she was the person I'd been waiting for, for just this purpose. I needed to feel the angst of an unrequited relationship, the longing and melancholy that it brings, those things I'd inured myself against years ago, swearing never to be moved by anyone, never to seem vulnerable. For such a long time and so many encounters I was successful. I touched yet was never touched. I could roll out of bed, throw a coat 'round my shoulders and be off down the road without a backward glance. I left many behind and seemingly now they had returned to haunt me in the guise of my passion for this one woman. Perhaps I fulfilled some need inside for her, she never told me and I was never able to discover my role in her life. This was painful yet I paid my dues. These last two years have been difficult to say the least. In my throes I have visited each distant affair as well as I could remember and asked forgiveness. I am done.

So here I am, not young but not old and not sure how to build a meaningful bond with another individual. In a way I feel brand new, like the fresh pink skin appearing from beneath a scab that you peel off in morbid fascination. I am more open now than I've ever been in my life. It's a little terrifying but also invigorating. I cannot use, no longer have, the same talents I had before to win my way into a woman's favor. It's just me and what I really want is to find a partner to dance with. Someone with a simple grace and an easy smile who doesn't ask for much except that I love her above all else. Now, that will be easy.

The Man Watching

I can tell by the way the trees beat, after
so many dull days, on my worried windowpanes
that a storm is coming,
and I hear the far-off fields say things
I can't bear without a friend,
I can't love without a sister

The storm, the shifter of shapes, drives on
across the woods and across time,
and the world looks as if it had no age:
the landscape like a line in the psalm book,
is seriousness and weight and eternity.

What we choose to fight is so tiny!
What fights us is so great!
If only we would let ourselves be dominated
as things do by some immense storm,
we would become strong too, and not need names.

When we win it's with small things,
and the triumph itself makes us small.
What is extraordinary and eternal
does not want to be bent by us.
I mean the Angel who appeared
to the wrestlers of the Old Testament:
when the wrestler's sinews
grew long like metal strings,
he felt them under his fingers
like chords of deep music.

Whoever was beaten by this Angel
(who often simply declined the fight)
went away proud and strengthened
and great from that harsh hand,
that kneaded him as if to change his shape.
Winning does not tempt that man.
This is how he grows: by being defeated, decisively,
by constantly greater beings.

~Rainer Maria Rilke

Focus

Fear conquers most. Focus conquers fear.