When I sit in my memory bank, it doesn't always feel like I am swimming. The effort it takes to be human and yet reasonable seems to float away with every intention. I wonder why I havent left this place yet? Maybe because the memories are too painful. Maybe its something about the pain that gives me hope. There is nothing like overcoming challenge to remind you that all power lies within your ability to conceive, to connect, and to create.
The river of consciousness flows freely like a catheter to my blood letting, but only when I release the valve. The fear of loss is doubled by the fear of gain. Its an interesting ratio. Usually when you worry about steeping in a new place its because, like a tea bag, you believe you will lose something wonderful and your strength will be diluted. And usually when you decide to get in anyway its because the profit, the benefit, the experience somehow outweighs the risk, no? What about now? Now, I feel the risk is doubled by the perceived benefit. That if I traverse down this path I’ll remain unchanged. I will not only risk my security but also my sanity. That somehow the worry of changing and also not changing cancels itself out, leaving me with only hesitation. So do I go? Would you?
Watching this couple caress and adorn one another with public love and affection makes me uneasy, at first. Long kisses with eyes closed, draping palms and back rubs, all seem reminiscent of a love affair. Why do I find them dressed to their best at a juice bar on a Thursday mid-morning giggling and sharing a cayenne ginger shot and the daily special? Neither married, so it appears, yet every story and conversation brings more love and attention to their embrace. She likes it hot, notice the siracha-drenched tofu scramble, he likes it plain, notice the simple toast, two eggs, and black coffee, but something more than this awkward balance unites them. Her accent juggling eastern Europe and uptown and his cadence singing South Carolina or maybe Minnesota. In his twill jacket and smart plaid shirt she is the only accessory he needs. Wrought in a deep-sea diving thigh-length blue wool jacket with maroon faux-fur afghan shag along the collar, a long blond pony and bold rimmed hat, tight black dress and high-knee high-heeled boots. Straight off the Acela 2154 train, she checks on her acai bowl for later, her nails manicured and his crisp locks freshly trimmed. They compliment yet contrast. As I watch them snuggle-cuddle, elbows brushing and forks trading places, I am reminded that love itself is not a spectacle. Love is not a brilliant wonder to be gawked at or frowned upon. It is not a quirky realization that opposites attract. It is a special secret that only the universal ether understands and only those privilege to dive into its waters can enjoy. He compliments her for heightened awareness of world knowledge and her ability to quickly read a situation, they discuss work. While he surmises she waits. While she explains, he listens. The simple action of acknowledging one another builds fortress of love and fantasy that dreams all day and sleeps deep at night. One thing is for sure, his belly burden laugh rings deep in her corridor and she reigns over his love like a light post. Always on, never wasting electricity. As they step up to leave the establishment she stops to gently refold his scarf and double wrap it loosely and fashionably around his neck, zips her coat and tosses a shawl to cover her shoulders. They step out to the brisk autumn air of another strangely delayed winter, LV bag in hand and acai bowl in bag. Sunglasses adorned you have only to wonder what makes her love bell ring. Except the best way to find out is to allow your own to jingle.
