Knocked up by Your Love, Photo by BradensEye bowing to SolusStreetArt + 212arts #theridgewall

*We interrupt your regularly scheduled program to bring you this SPECIAL PUBLIC SERVICE REFLECTION*

Accept everything about yourself — I mean everything, You are you and that is the beginning and the end — no apologies, no regrets. ~Henry Kissinger

Dearest Friend,

I want you to read this with love. Not solely the squeaky clean or schmaltzy (which you often poke fun at) stuff, but the rapture of rupture from nicking nerves. The kind of love that engages you from that first glance which doesn’t allow you to look away nor escape. From the interaction of depth, transformation, and rooted in all those soul-filled romantically intellectual books we both crave to be lost inside. Mostly, I hope that our friendship and trust is strong enough that you’re wise to my need to expose all of my pathos in this way. Of course, this is ripe for therapy. However, a bold step in any evolution that I know or have witnessed is the act of discovery together. By this mention and opening disclaimer, may you take to the deepest reaches of your core my intention to enroll you in a stronger psychological relationship between us. I believe that where vulnerability plays there is immense growth.

Let’s set some facts first. You’re a man. I’m a woman. Ever the two shall meet. Never the two shall be the same. I know you’ve touched a lot of people in your life, not in the least me. I infer this emotionally as much as the obvious physical space we’ve engaged before you were ever truly engaged (to not me). I mean this full of all the marvel we’ve concocted for one another, as much as painfully. We are both humans and it is part of what we do as affection and effect. As a walking, ever-waking, and baking nervous system, our bodies tune in much more starkly to others than any show. There has been endless entertainment and some agony you’ve helped cultivate in me. Like any great creator it lends me my shine, while shrewdly stealing my light at times I’ve given it over to letting you come up against me (in ways that are much less shameful than any lair we ever laid in, yet far greater in their breadth to inform a transcendence I duck or buck, despite my philosophical evolutional speak).

From the moment I laid eyes on you, I was Eve sinking my teeth into that damn apple. Yes, you’re one of those whose energy set my emotions on fire, denying me to be fully quenched and certainly unable to be doused to safety to this very instant. The flame burns brightly and just plain burned the hell out of me on a whole new level recently. I suppose I gave up the idea long ago that this blaze could or should be extinguished. It has been an unfolding of maturity (God, at least, I think so) to reconcile my male relationships in the form of partnership. That I can be so close, connected, and accommodating with you who entered my sacred grounds. You whom I tried on mentally… all the way down the aisle and through giving birth. Our layers of sensitivity have entirely sought to ignite continued passion. Except, those ties that strapped us into this conversation to begin with have long been restricted to verbal dalliances. Off guard, we surprised one another this time. Eventually willing our chemistry to brew empathy above carnal harmony.

You caught me this round in a heightened state of raw. Sure, meeting your exceptional wife along with missing my menstrual cycle going on thirteen weeks (age!) combined by a lack of sexual intimacy in over three years (choice in part, but proximity to stellar sexual memories is potent) left this gal soaked in peculiar hostility. Everything felt as if you were breaking my heart all over again. Openly. On purpose, almost. Because you were so self-assured you had all the answers for me. When, from my POV, you plainly had the advantages (marriage, two homes, lovely sex when you wanted, being taken care of, etc). I should have known you landed a gentile, like me. It was a reality check flaw that I’ve not been the chosen one, rejected (more than a few times), and the one(s) who were chosen are mighty fine women… [she nearly spit out texting (unable to dial his digits being respectfully too late in the eve, and assuming she would cry; something he hasn’t had to tackle with her historically and why start now)], as she lay buried in an expensive bed in the upper west side of a favorite city near some very favored people.

Why has sooooo close to fifty come to pass without any proposal, engagement, marriage, family of my own? I think I need to sleep on all of this now and forward. For a shy, introverted, gangly girl who became such a sociable, extroverted, voluptuous woman it’s this wild puzzle I’ve been questing (and taking necessary breaks sometimes) to solve for decades. Yet without wishing any stressful force pushing myself into situations that feel inauthentic. Though bars are not my source of sitting places top-notch, I’ve spent heaps of times reading books on planes, at riversides from Paris to all Zimbabwe, in countless coffee shops, airports, parks, and including bars. So explain that away! You might not be familiar with me as the one who’s dared to eat dog meat on the street, sleep upon street benches same as luxury nests near plus far, as well complete a little matchmaking and online dating. I’ve absorbed opposite gender education, learning about both our sexes, and who the hell I am individually, but especially in the mix of all that has served me very well.

I will go to great lengths to attempt immersion into a culture or country or just to survive and get by. All the same, I’m watchful for my conservations and sacrament with your male species. Of the same ilk, I’ve reached beyond my comfort zone aiming to delve into the world of men. I cooperate with fate by being superiorly sociable. I’ve made tons more male friends in the last two decades than prior. A lot of you are taken in varied ways ~ already married, committed, philandering (i.e. taken by drama I have zero interest in). I don’t believe my man, marriage, or dating should be left up to online dating sources; I most certainly meet new men ongoing, am constantly doing so exactly with the eye for dating, have had a few dates as a result, have met some incredibly worthy men, yet not connected with any available one wishing to commit… yet.

I feel so inspired and strongly when I see and hear beloved men I know rave about their intimate relationships with a partner they adore. You charmed by your woman and me simultaneous takes some getting used to. I see you enamored by intellectual and spiritual searches and raise an infinite toast to them. If you happen to read this and find an eagerness to ‘hear’ me through someone else’s veins, gander all remarks from this sanguine beauty: Date Like A Jedi-Six (Secret) Weapons To A Dating Life You Love. Mary Beth and I value the same dating pool rituals. These are not the norm, but they are my choice. And the same ones I’ve debated with you too long. Possibly, scoring them from outside of purview, you might swallow a tad more soundly. Although, I stray a bit, as don’t (I know well you won’t) ever give over your tenacity just to please (me or anyone).

The evidence I bathed in re-processing your decade-old refusal of me and subsequent contemporary retaliation of you attempting to turn that around on me as if I’m not offering enough of myself to men in the world looking for him for me killed me for a couple of minutes. This writing was partially my need to reboot and revive the confident me. As writers, we can agree on the blood that surfaces in words, healing wounds. The biggest irony of our mutual devotion is this insatiable hiccup where motivation and insensitivity collide. “Honey” (I texted breathily, with usual ease), I knew your intentions are pure, despite my sensations. I can only hope I’m not the only or first person who’s ever reacted to your style of encouragement with deflection and some suffering. I’m vastly aware you mean well. We have history and it strikes me differently at different times. On a busy week, struck with charitable heart-strings, you showing up for something meaningful to me, allowing your betrothed to meet me for the first time and our delight with one another, the fact I’ve got female hormones to contend with… it’s all quite a soup.

From once you got under my skin, I haven’t quite placed you in one solid spot within me to manage expertly (as if that’s ever possible with any person). Theoretically, I’ll keep trying for the sake of both of our future happiness (substitute ‘sanity’ as it’s suited). I knew this day was coming when it hit me like your KO. I just clearly missed the shiksa closer. Which simply has a minor sting of truth coupled with her excellence on par to what I do recognize I am. No matter, none of it removes feeling FUCKED in that awful, non-fun, sad, WTF universe way. Damn. “All good”, I told you (and meant it). I’m gonna work to let all of this slide me back to super. I didn’t want, nor ever asked, you to fix me (declare most women to men forever). What I have always welcomed is your help. To that, I’ve often been specific. Rather you lobbed an injustice alongside my plate overflowing atop my personal mood meets compassions. You and yours brought up some serious mojo for me. It’s gorgeous. However, envy is a teeter-totter with amour for me in brief incidents. Dicey darkness delicacies for those cynical types, when us light-bearers waltz a rare dangerous translation.

Lord willing, your stimulus included and aside, our union may ever include these unrefined chills in the halls of its wisdom and realism. Your thoughts invariably linger and marinate with me. I promise I would sooner let daggers carve wild caves into my soul to death than limit myself (be that my availability to my man I perceive is out there, as I wade through the sea of you; or else). If your consciousness swipes right toward me again, then use those faculties to manifest every phenomenal, commitment-minded, available man in my direction. I’ve pounded miles of pavement, am all about persistence, and appreciate this notion of generosity. Don’t answer this, please. Just take action if you’re able. That you gave me a slumber to process, earnestly circling back the next morning meant heaps more than you may comprehend. I didn’t want you to stew all night, but I was exhausted with honesty, slating a brain repair provision. You don’t make me feel any way, as I’m aware enough to know I run it (equal to ruining it infrequently).

Spar me, less sparing me. I’m often better without any prep and merely mutilating the moment with you. Yes, this is four-dimensional chess (all your pre-establishing plausible deniability and pre-fight mind games, besides). Battle with wit before goading gloves in hand. Shall we note it’s prudent to inform with epic aggression releases and delight both anointed? Let no room curtail our clarity. Inauthenticity is a coward. No response from you is the worst result. My highest concern diving in with you is utter stifling the air relating us. We’ve made a deal to preserve our chances. My wont is the gateway where we cross every expanse from a reaction, through release and reflection, to revaluation, reset, and reconnection.



P.s. Thank YOU for this closer:

Nothing is original. Steal from anywhere that resonates with inspiration or fuels your imagination. Devour old films, new films, music, books, paintings, photographs, poems, dreams, random conversations, architecture, bridges, street signs, trees, clouds, bodies of water, light and shadows. Select only things to steal from that speak directly to your soul. If you do this, your work (and theft) will be authentic. Authenticity is invaluable; originality is non-existent. And don’t bother concealing your thievery — celebrate it if you feel like it. In any case, always remember what Jean-Luc Godard said: “It’s not where you take things from — it’s where you take them to. ~Jim Jarmusch

Signing off from you at times is for my best health. (Not to mention complies to plane rules and lack of WiFi capability; depending my location.) Sex on a pool table is acutely overrated if any party is not conscious. Boxing ring sex had been added to my bucket list. Your inauthentic authentic share almost broke my brain after the twenty-four hours and week I’d had, but I seriously like it a lot.

Sidebar — (As you know,) I decided to use this letter that I started writing to you the eve of our texting blow-up as a blog post instead (of course not mentioning your name; as that remains private and important amongst us), but pointedly for my catharsis conjoined with resonance I think many could conjure. There so much reaction, reflection, reboot, etc that came from our recent exchange (which might have lasted a shorter time, she reflects further in hindsight, had it been on the phone or in person, as these text things are missing out on the mastery of live connections full throttle).

LOVER of life. Especially people, places, philanthropy and photography.

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