Ecstatic Awkwardness... continued
My gentleman caller was very well versed in the art of seduction. A master of his craft. The word here was sensuality. He deftly appealed to my beleaguered senses. My hunger starved senses. Longing for any measure of beauty. Lets say aesthetics was on his side.
They say Taurus men are the most sensual of all the signs and the most cruel when they want to. Its not only because they are cruel and thats it, but like their very nature, they're stubborn about it, stubborn about their cruelty. There is nothing worse than having to face someone who is cruel and who is being stubborn about it.
My Taurus gentleman began his magnificent assault on my intellect. The moment we sat and talked we branched into subject matters as obscure as the metaphysical foundations of musical taste and appreciation, what makes us like certain musicians and their music. The truly thorough discussion of how to arrive at such a understanding had both our minds stimulated to such an extent that we felt that "we" should not stop at there. It should move on beyond just an interesting conversation in a street cafe in our little Manhattan.
Being the film aficionado he is, he invited me to his place, to watch a movie he chooses.
Let me tell you my dear reader, I don't pride myself about my intuition very much but when I feel sexual tension I am usually never wrong about it. But I dismissed it as a silly thought. For my Taurus gentleman was far too cultivated and worldly to actually project such a feeling as sexual tension.
My Taurus gentleman chose an art film. The kind of films that does not conform to the "Hollywood formula". And the kind of film that takes years to finish due the amount of attention that is given to every single detail that is dictated by the directorial vision. The very special and unique directorial vision.
Being that such films usually are so multi-layered and engage people's emotions in the most complex of ways.
This film was no exception. It was about love lost, sorrow and the workings of Fate and agonizing nostalgia that haunts the entire visual experience. And despite the fact that it represented such raw forms of pain and realism, it was done so artfully that pain no longer became a negative sensation. It became"beautiful". Tears, agony and loss became stunning adornments for a cinematic screen. And this treacherous information/impressions lifted whatever defenses one had and the pain projected on the screen slowly crept into the hears of the viewers, met with little or no resistance, to suddenly realize that they are extremely emotionally moved and so confused about it. Unaware of the sharpness and the usual acidity of pain.
For pain was cloaked in beauty and it no longer became something unbearable to digest or absorb.
Now, my usual self I should have thanked my charming host for his exquisite hospitality and begged to leave. But I did not.
I was too "moved". Some strange thought came to my head, that I should stay and actually relate my own experience with transcending pain into an aesthetically meaningful object/expression.
And he asked me to. And I so gladly obliged him. I did.
And in a dark chamber, in a very dark corner, in an old dark chest lays my experience. I went in, unlocked the room and the chest, and took all of what was inside and laid it at his feet. Like an offering. Unadulterated, pure, unameliorated or improved upon.
My Taurus gentleman had "unrestricted access" to all of my inner most feelings, emotions, thoughts and memories.
All was open and there was light and no guards, no fortification, no walls, no defenses no resistance. Bare. I was perfectly bare for my host.
And he was more that ready to lay claim to the open, overflowing well of emotions I had.
One of the earliest modern novels that were based on homosexual characters and the kind of lives and relationships they had was called "The Well of Loneliness", by Radclyffe Hall.
That was my exact state. I had deprived myself from the benefit of enjoying this abundance of feelings to the extent it became an abundance of loneliness.
At this particular moment after laying bare to my enchanting host my unclothed self, and he relating to me the trials and tribulations of his life and just as "we" are about to move on to a new level of connectedness, he declares in distressed tones, his "frustrations" with his "boyfriend".
Now not once was this word mentioned or used before. Not even by mistake. This "boyfriend" appeared out of nowhere. And he was here to stay. To outstay me. I was here to come and leave. But, he was here to stay.
I became the other woman, the night visitor, the entertainer, token companion for a long, unpleasant journey.
Had I been in my right mind, I would have just stormed out of my charming host's place in a fit of rage and indignation being so blatantly lied to.
But I did not. I stayed on.
I gave myself the license, the moral license to compromise my principles, my personal integrity. Those very principles I so deeply cherish and pride myself for having them were all but gone now. Gone with the wind.
All that was left was the longing, the maddening longing, and the well of loneliness, that was now echoing with words such as "love lost, love regained".
Even if it was from someone who was already involved with someone else and even if it was for one night.
My host after seeing this adjustment, this fateful adjustment, attacked full scale, head on.
Literally.
No emotion was spared, no tenderness held back, every single gesture that might be remotely related to deep affection was very generously displayed and in the most extraordinary of ways.
And that feeling, that ecstatic feeling you get when you are held by someone who truly cherishes you and you truly cherish him, that feeling of warm skin against warm skin, and where bodies glow with love, gratitude and rapture?
That was it my dear reader.
That was it.
I was drowned in the sea of frenzied joy.
The sea shell that was once closed and then was gently teased till opened wide was washed over by a wave, a wave of smoldering sensuality and burning longing.
And like a flame that very surely burns away at the candle, and slowly pours molten wax at its fringes, I was slowly burning, shedding skin, flesh and heart at my fringes, till all that was left was the pure unsheltered me..
The heart and soul were now in the open, with nothing to shield them from whatever that was there to come.
Nothing.
And slowly my Taurus gentleman spilled little drops into them. Little drops into the well.
You could hear the little drops splashing at the very end, where the loneliness is, deep in the well.
Bit by bit.
By a whisper, by a touch, by a brush of the lips over bare skin, by the touch of a warm hand, on an exposed back.
And it was no longer drops spilled. My Taurus gentleman was pouring a magic potion into the well.
A magic substance. A magic substance called human relatedness. Human relatedness manifested in every possible way that is imaginable.
And for hours, my Taurus enchanter slipped his magic potion into my well, opened all my locked chambers, lit fire and incense and spread peace and warmth..
And just as the sun was about to reign over the sky I was sent home.
I was invited to sleep on the couch. But I refused. But then I had to go. There was no place for me there.
The night was over.
The long unpleasant journey was over.
And reality, had something else in store for me.
My awkwardness this time was of ecstatic kind.
But I was sleep deprived, my mind was plagued by images of perhaps one of the most extraordinary nights in my life.
And my body, my senses were screaming with euphoric sensations.
There was no rationality left in me. Just one idea, one thought governed my reality. I want to be with this person right now, and forever.
But that was my reality.
Not reality in itself. Or as it is.
As it is, I was destined to experience not very far in the future an intense, indescribable kind of pain. The pain of a sudden, deep, sever loss. A loss that was not anticipated. And is for something long desired and temporarily acquired...
The kind of pain that can not be cinematically or aesthetically transformed into beauty. Into an object of beauty.
For what does anyone want in life but to witness it with his long, lost "other"?
To realize the eternal truth that God (yes, sorry for all the atheists, agnostics and anti-religion people out there) created mankind (and sorry for all ye feminists out there) so they acknowledge each other and in turn realize that the supreme emotions they have towards each other is the closest they will get to 'godliness'.
But true love is true selflessness.
And selflessness is the highest of any moral qualities humans will ever aspire to achieve (Buddhism has the upper hand now).
Was I truly selfless?
At some point I would like to believe that I was truly selfless.
Yet this did not spare me. And I like, like so many before me, had to resort to ecstatic agony of music to console me.. the minimalist, highly ornate music of the Baroque composers,"Lascia Ch'io Pianga mia cruda sorte.." Lamenting consummately the cruelty of fate.. the cruelty of offering such rare measure of beauty and then taking it back..
Given the choice was it better to have loved and lost than to have ever loved at all?
They say Taurus men are the most sensual of all the signs and the most cruel when they want to. Its not only because they are cruel and thats it, but like their very nature, they're stubborn about it, stubborn about their cruelty. There is nothing worse than having to face someone who is cruel and who is being stubborn about it.
My Taurus gentleman began his magnificent assault on my intellect. The moment we sat and talked we branched into subject matters as obscure as the metaphysical foundations of musical taste and appreciation, what makes us like certain musicians and their music. The truly thorough discussion of how to arrive at such a understanding had both our minds stimulated to such an extent that we felt that "we" should not stop at there. It should move on beyond just an interesting conversation in a street cafe in our little Manhattan.
Being the film aficionado he is, he invited me to his place, to watch a movie he chooses.
Let me tell you my dear reader, I don't pride myself about my intuition very much but when I feel sexual tension I am usually never wrong about it. But I dismissed it as a silly thought. For my Taurus gentleman was far too cultivated and worldly to actually project such a feeling as sexual tension.
My Taurus gentleman chose an art film. The kind of films that does not conform to the "Hollywood formula". And the kind of film that takes years to finish due the amount of attention that is given to every single detail that is dictated by the directorial vision. The very special and unique directorial vision.
Being that such films usually are so multi-layered and engage people's emotions in the most complex of ways.
This film was no exception. It was about love lost, sorrow and the workings of Fate and agonizing nostalgia that haunts the entire visual experience. And despite the fact that it represented such raw forms of pain and realism, it was done so artfully that pain no longer became a negative sensation. It became"beautiful". Tears, agony and loss became stunning adornments for a cinematic screen. And this treacherous information/impressions lifted whatever defenses one had and the pain projected on the screen slowly crept into the hears of the viewers, met with little or no resistance, to suddenly realize that they are extremely emotionally moved and so confused about it. Unaware of the sharpness and the usual acidity of pain.
For pain was cloaked in beauty and it no longer became something unbearable to digest or absorb.
Now, my usual self I should have thanked my charming host for his exquisite hospitality and begged to leave. But I did not.
I was too "moved". Some strange thought came to my head, that I should stay and actually relate my own experience with transcending pain into an aesthetically meaningful object/expression.
And he asked me to. And I so gladly obliged him. I did.
And in a dark chamber, in a very dark corner, in an old dark chest lays my experience. I went in, unlocked the room and the chest, and took all of what was inside and laid it at his feet. Like an offering. Unadulterated, pure, unameliorated or improved upon.
My Taurus gentleman had "unrestricted access" to all of my inner most feelings, emotions, thoughts and memories.
All was open and there was light and no guards, no fortification, no walls, no defenses no resistance. Bare. I was perfectly bare for my host.
And he was more that ready to lay claim to the open, overflowing well of emotions I had.
One of the earliest modern novels that were based on homosexual characters and the kind of lives and relationships they had was called "The Well of Loneliness", by Radclyffe Hall.
That was my exact state. I had deprived myself from the benefit of enjoying this abundance of feelings to the extent it became an abundance of loneliness.
At this particular moment after laying bare to my enchanting host my unclothed self, and he relating to me the trials and tribulations of his life and just as "we" are about to move on to a new level of connectedness, he declares in distressed tones, his "frustrations" with his "boyfriend".
Now not once was this word mentioned or used before. Not even by mistake. This "boyfriend" appeared out of nowhere. And he was here to stay. To outstay me. I was here to come and leave. But, he was here to stay.
I became the other woman, the night visitor, the entertainer, token companion for a long, unpleasant journey.
Had I been in my right mind, I would have just stormed out of my charming host's place in a fit of rage and indignation being so blatantly lied to.
But I did not. I stayed on.
I gave myself the license, the moral license to compromise my principles, my personal integrity. Those very principles I so deeply cherish and pride myself for having them were all but gone now. Gone with the wind.
All that was left was the longing, the maddening longing, and the well of loneliness, that was now echoing with words such as "love lost, love regained".
Even if it was from someone who was already involved with someone else and even if it was for one night.
My host after seeing this adjustment, this fateful adjustment, attacked full scale, head on.
Literally.
No emotion was spared, no tenderness held back, every single gesture that might be remotely related to deep affection was very generously displayed and in the most extraordinary of ways.
And that feeling, that ecstatic feeling you get when you are held by someone who truly cherishes you and you truly cherish him, that feeling of warm skin against warm skin, and where bodies glow with love, gratitude and rapture?
That was it my dear reader.
That was it.
I was drowned in the sea of frenzied joy.
The sea shell that was once closed and then was gently teased till opened wide was washed over by a wave, a wave of smoldering sensuality and burning longing.
And like a flame that very surely burns away at the candle, and slowly pours molten wax at its fringes, I was slowly burning, shedding skin, flesh and heart at my fringes, till all that was left was the pure unsheltered me..
The heart and soul were now in the open, with nothing to shield them from whatever that was there to come.
Nothing.
And slowly my Taurus gentleman spilled little drops into them. Little drops into the well.
You could hear the little drops splashing at the very end, where the loneliness is, deep in the well.
Bit by bit.
By a whisper, by a touch, by a brush of the lips over bare skin, by the touch of a warm hand, on an exposed back.
And it was no longer drops spilled. My Taurus gentleman was pouring a magic potion into the well.
A magic substance. A magic substance called human relatedness. Human relatedness manifested in every possible way that is imaginable.
And for hours, my Taurus enchanter slipped his magic potion into my well, opened all my locked chambers, lit fire and incense and spread peace and warmth..
And just as the sun was about to reign over the sky I was sent home.
I was invited to sleep on the couch. But I refused. But then I had to go. There was no place for me there.
The night was over.
The long unpleasant journey was over.
And reality, had something else in store for me.
My awkwardness this time was of ecstatic kind.
But I was sleep deprived, my mind was plagued by images of perhaps one of the most extraordinary nights in my life.
And my body, my senses were screaming with euphoric sensations.
There was no rationality left in me. Just one idea, one thought governed my reality. I want to be with this person right now, and forever.
But that was my reality.
Not reality in itself. Or as it is.
As it is, I was destined to experience not very far in the future an intense, indescribable kind of pain. The pain of a sudden, deep, sever loss. A loss that was not anticipated. And is for something long desired and temporarily acquired...
The kind of pain that can not be cinematically or aesthetically transformed into beauty. Into an object of beauty.
For what does anyone want in life but to witness it with his long, lost "other"?
To realize the eternal truth that God (yes, sorry for all the atheists, agnostics and anti-religion people out there) created mankind (and sorry for all ye feminists out there) so they acknowledge each other and in turn realize that the supreme emotions they have towards each other is the closest they will get to 'godliness'.
But true love is true selflessness.
And selflessness is the highest of any moral qualities humans will ever aspire to achieve (Buddhism has the upper hand now).
Was I truly selfless?
At some point I would like to believe that I was truly selfless.
Yet this did not spare me. And I like, like so many before me, had to resort to ecstatic agony of music to console me.. the minimalist, highly ornate music of the Baroque composers,"Lascia Ch'io Pianga mia cruda sorte.." Lamenting consummately the cruelty of fate.. the cruelty of offering such rare measure of beauty and then taking it back..
Given the choice was it better to have loved and lost than to have ever loved at all?
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