| Emotion. How it stirs us into action... into expression, of words formed to confession. The fountain overflows, whatever the feeling is, it overwhelms. How can something shake me as intensely as this? A woman of poise and intellect. Cool in demeanor, of stature... when I begin to love, I lose all I have gained and always stand before the court of my own judgement as: Guilty. In my adolescence, I had moved from city to city and played on the affections of men and women alike. The great poet, with words drawn out as silk, recited by smoothe vocal cords. I spoke to seduce, and had before the ripe age of womanhood, already repaid my debts. My heart was softened for the trials of women, though hardened still in matters of love. For a long time I believed myself to prefer the company of natural women, and continued to disdain even the most sincere men. I would find a chink in their armor and shatter their facade to ruins. But after such endless days of witnessing the pain of men and women alike, the polar sexes began to merge as one. I saw little difference in the yearnings of both and began to question why for years we stood in opposition. My compassion grew for the suffering of this collective. To live in a world and long desperately for love, but be unable to accept it because the wound of our survival runs too deep. This was a tragedy we all shared, and my personal contempt for one sex over the other did not have enough sustenance to endure. To reject the masculine was to reject an aspect of myself that I had only recently learned to love so well. I could not turn myself cold to either, or. But still, I could not allow myself to be touched in earnest by them. Their tenderness frightened me only because I was afraid to hold on. ~~~ Graduating the world of scholarly appraisal was not as gratifying as I imagined it to be. I felt no more accomplished afterward, than I had before. It was the end of one chapter, and the beginning of another. Only I could no longer continue to indoctrinate my false sense of stability with the hunt of academia or career. I would always be the dreamer, feverish and wild in my heart. I could ground in routine, but even I struggled to discipline myself. How noble is the struggle in which destruction intertwines itself like a raw vein around the limb of our passions. Try as we might, we can never seem to separate the two, like stubborn lovers, they grasp onto one another with tenacity. My heart was full, and my body ripe to be discovered. I had to release the currents of my ache and desire somewhere it could be received in all its capacity. I knew only the elements would understand the thirst of my need for connection. I had spent a lifetime searching for it in the eyes of another and witnessed only the dull reflection of fear gaze back at me in return. Or the shallow limpet stare of lust coax me into feeling. When you open yourself to such a lover, how one laments in the illusion of what was never there... No... I did not want to lose myself in the insincere, confused embrace of Man. I wanted the earth instead to cradle me back to birth. I wanted my baby back, to breastfeed the river my thirst and hunger. My child and I, whose presence of a father was needed for psychological security, had instead pressured for the removal of this potential. I could not allow myself to love another man, despite my want. I could not. And I comforted myself with this as an ideology, romantic to those whose hearts like mine were also left scattered in pieces. I intended to lose myself in the wilderness of the earth. Alone. One, with my Maker. My passion translated in its fullest potential. But the Spirit of this world had other plans for me it seemed... and like Alice, I found myself somewhere in between dream and reality... tumbling once more down the rabbit hole. |
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