Friday
Aug282020
To walk without touching the ground
"I could not make her mine anymore than she could make me hers. The best I could do was to show her how much I wanted it. To press my mouth against her pulse, and open." - Melissa Febos/Abandon Me.
Life in high definition. Technicolor. A heightened awareness of the evanescent connection to everything and everyone. Especially her. Heart pounding between my thighs.
strongsexyvulnerable. I want to protect her/she doesn't need protecting. She makes me feel empowered. Feel weak. Fever. Chills. Submission. Dominance.
Equality.
Hurt me. Save me. Leave me. Ignore me. Come back to me. Love me. Hate me. Whatever she wants. Whatever she needs in the moment. It's all part of it. Trust isn't about grabbing tightly to things or people. It's about letting go. Submission to the flow. It's the only way to find any semblance of relief. In love and life.
“To have faith is to trust yourself to the water. When you swim you don’t grab hold of the water, because if you do you will sink and drown. Instead you relax, and float.” – Alan Watts.
And then the waterfall. Let yourself fall. Lean into the fall, even. When it's love and then especially when shit goes bad. It's in the surrender to disaster where you find grace.
Be like water.
She too, intuitively knows the only rule is to break all the rules. Smash them to pieces. Getting to know her is like savoring the opening of a beautifully wrapped gift from the person who knows you best. Carefully, lovingly, meticulously digging up the tape with your fingernail, peeling it back from the paper. Gently, now. Don't tear it. Don't fuck it up. You can't really fuck it up but don't fuck it up. Tugging a creased corner here, a folded bit there. Slowly, now. Pay attention.
Pausing. Breathing. Awareness. Contemplating the gift. Head tilted in awe.
The ding of her text zings my heart like the tempo change at 2:20 on this song. Staring at her latest message in delighted bewilderment. Focusing so hard on that tiny screen she must feel my eyeballs probing her soul from thousands of miles away.
In the car, listening to the mix she sent, chest tightening, bubbling like carbonation, body vibrating, gazing at the sky and clouds in fresh wonder because who knew this was out there? So different than with men. And I have a good man. But this? So sweet and so soft and powerful and sexy and achingly beautiful. Overflowing with firsthand knowing. Implicit understanding and recognition. Not curating an image of yourself to present, a peeling back of layers to reveal what lies beneath. Free from the imposition of construct. I'm turned on because she's turned on. It doesn't matter why. Or who. Or how many.
Appreciating the gift. Grateful. You weren't expecting anything and out of the blue a blood red beating heart is throbbing in your hands/between your thighs.
Tear open a creased corner with shaky fingers, you can't help it. Peel back a layer. And another, revel in the slow discovery.
Pausing. Breathing. Awareness. Orchestral music set to slow-motion video.
Be here now. With me. Breathe with me. Your lips on my pulse. Lean into the fall and eventually maybe even the fizzle. The fall and the fizzle are just two sides of the same coin. You can't have one without the other.
Years of gaslighting and screaming into towels in the bathroom while the shower ran and sublimation and keeping it together for everybody else. We made it out, girl. And then we made it in. That's the real bravery.
To walk without touching the ground. How does my head look to my eyes? How does love feel to my heart? To feel the feelings is a redundant expression because we are the feelings.
Life in high definition. Technicolor. A heightened awareness of the evanescent connection to everything and everyone. Especially her. Heart pounding between my thighs.
strongsexyvulnerable. I want to protect her/she doesn't need protecting. She makes me feel empowered. Feel weak. Fever. Chills. Submission. Dominance.
Equality.
Hurt me. Save me. Leave me. Ignore me. Come back to me. Love me. Hate me. Whatever she wants. Whatever she needs in the moment. It's all part of it. Trust isn't about grabbing tightly to things or people. It's about letting go. Submission to the flow. It's the only way to find any semblance of relief. In love and life.
“To have faith is to trust yourself to the water. When you swim you don’t grab hold of the water, because if you do you will sink and drown. Instead you relax, and float.” – Alan Watts.
And then the waterfall. Let yourself fall. Lean into the fall, even. When it's love and then especially when shit goes bad. It's in the surrender to disaster where you find grace.
Be like water.
She too, intuitively knows the only rule is to break all the rules. Smash them to pieces. Getting to know her is like savoring the opening of a beautifully wrapped gift from the person who knows you best. Carefully, lovingly, meticulously digging up the tape with your fingernail, peeling it back from the paper. Gently, now. Don't tear it. Don't fuck it up. You can't really fuck it up but don't fuck it up. Tugging a creased corner here, a folded bit there. Slowly, now. Pay attention.
Pausing. Breathing. Awareness. Contemplating the gift. Head tilted in awe.
The ding of her text zings my heart like the tempo change at 2:20 on this song. Staring at her latest message in delighted bewilderment. Focusing so hard on that tiny screen she must feel my eyeballs probing her soul from thousands of miles away.
In the car, listening to the mix she sent, chest tightening, bubbling like carbonation, body vibrating, gazing at the sky and clouds in fresh wonder because who knew this was out there? So different than with men. And I have a good man. But this? So sweet and so soft and powerful and sexy and achingly beautiful. Overflowing with firsthand knowing. Implicit understanding and recognition. Not curating an image of yourself to present, a peeling back of layers to reveal what lies beneath. Free from the imposition of construct. I'm turned on because she's turned on. It doesn't matter why. Or who. Or how many.
Appreciating the gift. Grateful. You weren't expecting anything and out of the blue a blood red beating heart is throbbing in your hands/between your thighs.
Tear open a creased corner with shaky fingers, you can't help it. Peel back a layer. And another, revel in the slow discovery.
Pausing. Breathing. Awareness. Orchestral music set to slow-motion video.
Be here now. With me. Breathe with me. Your lips on my pulse. Lean into the fall and eventually maybe even the fizzle. The fall and the fizzle are just two sides of the same coin. You can't have one without the other.
Years of gaslighting and screaming into towels in the bathroom while the shower ran and sublimation and keeping it together for everybody else. We made it out, girl. And then we made it in. That's the real bravery.
To walk without touching the ground. How does my head look to my eyes? How does love feel to my heart? To feel the feelings is a redundant expression because we are the feelings.
Aug 28, 2020 | Comments Off