Soul Mate, 48

Insanity I know well.  I’m feeling it by the bushel now, as I negotiate a nascent relationship.  I’d asked the Universe for love, for partnership and now, I’ve received it.  I’d indicated to the Universe my preference for a woman of color, but she came in another, brighter  package.  There were several “asks” that I made of the Universe that the Universe decided were not relevant.  This time around. There may be others, there may not.

Relationship is challenging and fearsome and terrifying and painful. Being yourself, allowing your darkest fears to leak out, your weakest, tenderest flesh to be exposed to sometimes rough, insensitive, clueless handling is the risk you take to create intimacy.  And sometimes I wonder if its worth it.

Should I be marrying my writing, marrying my talent?  When have I ever?  I’ve always given short shrift to the stories, to the energy, to the flow, to the volcanic desire to burst forth and commit to that eruption – one day at a time.  Does relationship with another enhance or interrupt my ability to be in holy matrimony with my creativity?  Time will tell.

I’d made an amendment to my request of the Universe that put a color bar on who showed up…and I’m glad that I did.  I’ve met a woman who, while white, is deep, strong, brilliant, creative, expressive, in short all of the things that I said I wanted.  And there are hurdles.  I was reading an article about Juliette Greco, a French singer who’d had a longterm relationship with Miles Davis.  Miles was asked by the philospher Jean Paul Sartre, why he didn’t marry Greco.  “Because I love her too much to hurt her.”  I don’t know that I want to hurt “her” as well as hurt myself.

“Its hard for two people just to love each other.”

Charles Mingus

And it is.  Its hard because everyone has a sayso, feels they have an interest in who fucks who across the color line.  The barbed wire is as thick on the black side as it is on the white, and the flesh hanging from the razor wire is testimony to the belief that to transgress this righteous bias means death or dismemberment.  Spiritual, emotional if not physical.

I’ve felt my insanity today and it isn’t mine, its this fucked up worlds; its the loveless, hateful, hierarchical, naive, vicious, irresponsible, logical, murderous, terrified world that I have to try to live in.  To feel insane is only to channel what I see around me and signal my nausea at it, my desire to rise above it, move away from it, vomit it up and purge my system of it.

I don’t want to outsource my love to another until I figure out how to make room for me, my self love.  Or maybe that’s what I have to do in order to locate my self love, in someone else’s mirror.  Either way, I have to find it somewhere, anywhere or I’ll die.

3 Responses to “Soul Mate, 48”

  1. ah you speak of such complex matters! i leave you with a quote by Erica Jong:
    Do you want me to tell you something really subversive? Love is everything it’s cracked up to be. That’s why people are so cynical about it. It really is worth fighting for, being brave for, risking everything for. And the trouble is, if you don’t risk anything, you risk even more.”
    she was feeling mighty optimistic that fine day she decided to make such a statement.

  2. brown kaleidoscope, welcome to the blog and thank you for this. love takes exceptional courage. learning how to love and why we love – and maybe unlearning how and why i/we love – is important, maybe more important than its ever been. at least for me. i don’t want to do default anything, but really continue to inquire into who i am and who and what feeds me.


  3. Hi there,

    Just stumbled on your blog. I hear what you say, and I feel the same way often. The insanity. The fear. The anger.

    Lately I’ve been educating myself in the Vietnam war, which I was never taught anything about. My God, it was horrendous. What we did to those people. And I saw families have their straw huts torched with napalm, children with their skin hanging off because they were in those huts. The sheer horror. It’s a crime and its forgotten by us. But I saw the people who lived in those huts hold each other and comfort each other, in the midst of that fire, and it made sense to me what love is. Who among us has the right to turn down love? Who among us has the arrogance to reject love? For any reason. If the world is a maddening place, what reason is that for us to reject love? If the universe is cruel, what reason is that to reject love?
    It’s not hard for people to love each other. Not at all.

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