So many thoughts this week. And so little time to write.
It’s been a week of un-braiding the aspects of my life – working out the tangles.
The work, the relationships, the writing. And the assumptions, the expectations, and the goals I’ve half-consciously made for myself – and have taken for granted.
I began thinking about Neil’s comments. About his generosity. About his question, ” When did the sense of intimacy become available without any qualification?”
The deep truth here that – this is what we are all longing for, isn’t it? It is encompassed in that moment before a first kiss: the deep inhalation and the diving-in, opening oneself to the messiness and un-staged reality of intimacy. The moment where everything is at stake and you are only in that moment. Listening. Being. Trusting.
Not evaluating. Not judging. Just giving into the moment.
This thing beyond decorum, beyond language – after all what is language but specific decorum? I know when to say “please” &”thank you”, and when to say “fuck”.
But beyond that, under that surface: we are all body, and instincts, and vulnerabilities.
This body is new to me.
Sometimes it is like greeting a former lover who’s been around the world, and come back smelling of strange perfume, touching you with unfamiliar gestures. There’s a slight inflection when she says your name, and you think it might be an affectation. You hope it is an affectation.
“Just knock it off, will you?”
And you wonder if you ever really knew her at all.
This week I’ve been soft with myself. Trying to will the muscles to ease in my neck and upper back. Trying not to berate myself for not having more strength, more resilience – more sense from sensation.
But my hand fell across my stomach last night.
Just as I was falling asleep.
And I thought, “So soft.”
And I exhaled
and I thought, “So beautiful”.
“This thing that moves me through the world.”
“Through this life.”
And there wasn’t a qualification of any kind.
And I wonder if I’ve ever known my own body intimately
before that moment.