love

Just…what…uh…no idea

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I’m in a position now where I want so much to be holding in my arms the ones that I love. But I know that is either a distant future or a impossibility and I have to deal with that.

In a way it’s like a breakup but without the constant questioning and self recriminations. In this case I know the reasons. I just lament them.

Right now, I’m sad often and I don’t want to be but I also don’t know how to stop it my self.

I’ve been incredibly lucky to meet extraordinary people through my blog and though some hurt me, I still feel incredibly fortunate to have the chance to be with people who meet my mind first rather than the crucible of a dating site or a munch or something. Because, I’m not great at those.

Let’s be clear. I’m weird. I have odd notions and hobbies. I have strange views and see things differently. What the majority find interesting, I find mostly a nuisance. I point this out, not to set myself apart, but to demonstrate that I feel as if I’m a outsider.

When you add in BDSM and a preference for strong submissives, I find I’ve narrowed my interests perhaps too narrowly.

I’d love to say that such a narrow focus means that I find my way clear but really I’m all a muddle.

I scare people away because I’m intense and always seek clarity. Not because I am meek but because I can have a effect where I bowl someone over.
But then I just melt if someone says, “Yes, Sir,” and means it.

I don’t know where forward is. Or if I need to heal first. Or if I just need someone I love to look me in the eyes and say “Yes, I choose you” and mean it down to their bones.

Things in this world are complicated

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You have to give yourself over to love. I know thats crazy. I know that invites pain and death and the dissolution of the self. But you must. Not in some religious sense unless we mean as a philosophy of hope for each other. Only through love can humanity save itself. And I don’t mean love as some cold thing but let respect, hope, desire, and the elevation of others inform your choices. And if you find yourself with someone you love, who loves you, and if all parties enthusiastically consents, express that love physically. Even if that’s just being in the same room. Or holding hands. Or kissing. Or the whole panoply. Love is no cold thing. It is of heat, of flame.
Help and dictate not how that help is used. If you give money to someone, accept that they know their own needs and let go any notion that you have the right to dictate. Give freely and without expectation of reciprocity. Let love be your guide.

This is not to say that you should endanger yourself, just that we all hide a bit more than may be needful.

And I’m definitely not saying that a person who takes in the belief that they act in love are to be forgiven. In my belief system, if you take without consent, then you must suffer the dire and vicious consequences.

I say only that love should be closer to a guiding principle than we generally let it be.

Much as I rail against it…

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I have hope.
I’ve actually been very lucky this last year. I’ve had some amazing opportunities and, though they didn’t work out, they have made me realize that I am someone who others value and want to spend time with. I’ve spent a good portion of my life feeling like a failure. That by my failure to see the future, I don’t deserve to have a future. It’s been a long road from that to now. And I’m really a better person for that journey. I’ve learned how to work through and cope with major heartbreak. I have found love for some and with some amazing people who I hope will be in my life as I journey forward. I’m still looking for my romantic partner or partners and know that there is a chance when I thought it would never be possible.

Not all dreams rise(audio)

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Half cast shadows shift in the broken light
Stop motion shades flit from open doorway to open doorway
Huge rusted hinges showing where vault doors once hung
Fear hangs like grease in the soft twilight air
The man shaped thing strides through his city
Draped in the cloth of forgotten night
Wet air bubbles and shifts like touching a hot skillet
The doors are open
The cane by his side bends and shifts
Once a staff, once a blade
He thirsts
But his city lays barren
Patches of green
turned brown and wilted
dot the hanging gardens
A testament to what was and what may be
In this forgotten city of memory

A heart afire 

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I love you like the moon loves the sun. It is your presence that brings me light and makes me shine. Without you there is only darkness.

Confusion is perfectly normal

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I am a creature full of mourning for a relationship that is and was and could have been and may yet still be. If you find that confusing, all I can say is welcome to my life. This happens more often than not. Perhaps I am an addiction that is almost but not quite enough or maybe when I see a person I am connected to I have little regard for consequence and instead throw my heart to the crucible and dare them to join me.

It’s hard to see someone you love make a choice that takes them away. To a better place almost assuredly but still it’s hard to see them go and the heart crushes under the weight of too familiar pain.

So why do I do this time and again? Honestly, I know of no other way to be. I love. I fall in love. I see. I choose. I wait. I break. It is as if these are what I am and while I am many things beside, at the core, love is who I am.

Love, in its many forms

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When I say “I love someTHING”, I mean I feel a deep emotional connection to that thing or that this thing in some way makes my life livable. I love music or I love Luis Royo’s art. When I say I love you, I mean I feel a deep and abiding emotional connection that changes how I see the world because now all things include you in the context loop of my thoughts. When I click Love in a social media context I mean I either love you the person dealing with situation or that the thing is something I feel a deep emotional connection to.

This is a reaction to the “I love you” vs “I’m in love with you” statement.

People use the wording to differentiate romantic vs Platonic love. For me, platonic love is merely a lower level of romantic love. Often, platonic love is just a suppression of romantic love, which can become more if the opportunity presents itself.

Family is different. I love them at a remove from myself. They exist as love by connection, if that makes sense.

Platonic and romantic love, exist internally. Familial exists outside that. It is a web of obligations and connections. In many respects it is like the way that I regard someone as mine. It invokes a web of obligations and connections. Maybe that makes for a muddle but it exists as crystalline truth to me.

Unknown observer

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In my heart
is a poison vial
and I know not
whether I am alive or dead
Poised between love and oblivion
I cannot know until I am seen

A dream on a Sunday Morn

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I dreamed that I was at a club as the sun was falling Sunday night. I was invited there by the owners. One of whom sat the door and another was behind the bar. There was a full kitchen serving small dishes and a upper floor where people could rest and sit and have food. It was a gay club and this is important. I’m sitting at the door talking to my friend and people are walking in, hesitant, young. Some afraid to step in, some afraid they will be turned away, rejected here as they are rejected elsewhere. Snubbed here as they are snubbed elsewhere. But my friend smiles and nods and they are welcomed in. The club night is called Church. In walks a big burly guy, not bad looking but rough. And he turns to my friend and says “it’s a bit blasphemous to have a club called Church on Sunday.” My friend just shrugs and waves him in. But I can’t let it go. I say “We call it church because this is the place we are loved and accepted. Here we aren’t judged for who we love. Here we aren’t told we are monsters or unworthy. Here we are free. THIS is our church where we are free to worship as we please with those that please us.” My friend looks at me like I’ve grown a second head. Because I don’t generally confront people about their bullshit. Then he turns to the guy and says, “Yeah, what he said.” After sitting the door for awhile we go in and we have fun and dance. We are not the stereotype. We are not good dancers, but we are happy, enthusiastic and free. A young gentleman whom I am acquainted with slips his hand across my shoulder, his hand resting on my chest. I place my hand on his and say, “Hello, my love.” I say it impishly, playfully. But he pulls his hand back like I burned him. I turn around to see his shocked expression and I can’t help but laugh. My friend gives me a look and we smile and laugh as the young man disappears, fleeing. Whether from our laughter or the shock, I don’t know. My friend has the DJ put on a record and tells the room with a shake of the head and a the back of the hand to his forehead that He’s sorry but he had to. Then the beat of Gloria Gaynor, I will survive comes up and we groan and laugh and people get up from their seats and dance like silly happy fools. And then I wake.

A heart leads

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I have never been a man who could not follow his heart. When I was younger that meant looking for the cracks in the world. It meant exploiting my talents and the talents of others for fun and profit. When I met Morgan, that started to change. I began to mold myself into a man she would be proud of. When she was ripped from me, my heart led me into darkness. Into silence. Because in the hushed darkness it was easier to heal. And, while externally, I became more harsh, more abrasive, more cutting; internally I became introspective. As I poured over and over the events of that night searching for any way, any possibility that this was a dream, a nightmare. And despite myself, I healed. And I met a man who led my heart out of that darkness. Who showed me it was OK to love again. OK to still be alive. He eventually left but I was awake and could not close myself again.
So I followed my heart. Again and again each time I was hurt. Each time I learned what humanity was. In my long absence, I had grown cold and distant. Until a year ago, when I finally forgave myself for not saving her. I forgave myself. But I must acknowledge that I failed My Morgan. And I will never fail a love again, if I can help it. If I know what is happening.
And I opened myself up, and I, in my naivety perhaps, thought I had found. But no, again and again, my heart leads me to people who are hurt and I try to help them. Because that is who I am now. Not the only thing, but it is one of the pillars. But I pay a price each time. I can love and love forever. And each person I love leaves or will only give so much before they pull back to safety. And so I am stripped bare. Cast adrift, seeing the bright lights of the people I love, twinkling from the shoreline. While I drift at sea, forever unable, seemingly, to make landfall.