Saturday, August 19, 2017

Dreamcatcher

The savages of the weeks spent on the road are starting to accumulate into a well of tension that fills without emptying. Toss on top of it the emotional turmoil of the last month which brings danger to the edges of it. The culmination is waking up in a strange bad, in a strange city, the fourth in less than a month, and tears. Dreaming has become a process of recreating episodes both bitter and sweet, the tears a response to the emotions in the dream. The continued crying and the wailing, belly aching sorrow that followed only spurred by the act of waking in tears.

No, no, no, is all I the mantra in my head.

The gym, the shower, the coffee, the work. The work I excel at, the small crowd I am with, impressed. What I need, though, is not the adulation of my peers and colleagues. I need less wine and more humanity.

At the bar later, I wait for humanity, sipping water and letting my head swirl with the accumulated information of three days. Humanity arrives as lithe and sweet, and asking for wine. After a dark week, it is pleasant to remember that there is profound beauty in the dynamic world of people, where we can be so different and yet so the same, and where simply being in the presence of each other can sometimes be enough to heal deep wounds.

We go to my room where I lay on the chest of a stranger, who for the next few hours is a friend, and sip wine while we talk about our lives with as few details as possible.

We are sweet together, it is a romance of the moment, a connection that is powerfully effecting, the void gets smaller as the conversation drags on, talking almost an hour on about things neither of us have enough details to understand. The lack of wisdom brings us closer together, until finally, after what feels like hours of talking, we collapse upon each other in a tangle of limbs, soft sighs, fast motions and finally sleep.

My head stays on his chest most of the night listening to his heartbeat, comforted, relaxing. There are no dreams. I don't wake in tears.



Saturday, August 12, 2017

The Young Ones

Often the words I find myself saying are "Slow Down".

Need, I understand. The driving present needs and desire to act, take action, do, merge, blend. All the needs of closeness and touching and being present culminating in that final moment when connection is finally  made.

The desire to fall down into it. Perhaps it is because I have moved long past days of stumbling and desperation. My flesh wants for lingering passes and longer attentions and long drawn out encapsulation of pleasures; lost in sensation, found in sensation, existing in moments that drag out for years, time relative to the partner, enjoyment moment.

So I say slow down, placing my hands on faces, on hands, on arms, on the body, guiding, leading, teaching, slowing, until a rhythm can be found that allows for happy exploration and mutual satisfaction of us both.

The young ones, eager, full of youth, lacking in experience, curious about life, passionate about everything they do. A time and a space for seeking and questing and the energy is powerful and intoxicating, which is perhaps why I have found myself more and more seeking it out.

It is a wheel that has come full circle, from the loves of my own youth that were always so much older, to the loves of my midlife who seem always so much younger. An infinity loop, perhaps.

My words are always slow down, their words are always more, we meet somewhere in the middle and find a way forward.