Friends, Lovers, Fiances, Enemies, Fiances, and Then...

She was wrapped in a towel and freshly showered when I first met her. I was unexpected and met with a nervous giggle that escaped pursed lips. My grandparents were there helping carry luggage as I coughed green and and ran to throw up. She excused herself as we made our way to my new bedroom. The sagging mattress tossed on an industrial metal frame was one of two beds in the large wooden room. It was to be mine although not quite yet.

She reemerged clothed, and my grandparents asked her for a hotel room and a hospital. We departed with a "Thank-you" towards Lombard Street.

I returned a few days later feeling slightly less sick and more consciously aware of the screaming and chair throwing. She wasn't there to greet me. Instead, I was welcomed dryly by the director from his first floor office. His dog yapping should have been a warning cry; I should have heard its pain and story. But my headache made intuition impossible, so I stayed.

Eight months of screams, bites, feces, transformations, trauma, and love occurred. It was abusive and kept me contained fearful of quiet and stillness. I also gained a close, close friend as only abuse and trauma can create: the woman in the towel.

We both stopped working at the same time and became roommates. Then, we became lovers. It was unexpected, familiar, and beautiful. It was also cyclically unhealthy.

After six plus years of being friends, lovers, fiances, enemies, and fiances again, we ended it. She ended it. I accepted it.

For all its abusive start, cyclical middle, and rocky finish, she showed me love. It prepared us for what was next. For her, grad school and a job in economic development. For me, falling in love all over again.

This time I learned: cruising dark alleys is no more riskier than meeting in a group home.

Gashed, Burned, and Loved

  
They were rough with deep gashes and hard looking burns from the shrink-wrap machine. They caught on smooth surfaces like sandpaper against pantyhose. I didn't want mine to be like his. I wanted dainty as if they had never seen the sun or manual labor. I was better than his. Or at least I wanted to be.,

Mine aren't dainty, but their not as rough as his. They've done and see a lot; manual labor is low on that list. Their soft smoothness is gone replaced by a chafing dryness. I love them and I would be lost without them; left wandering a landscape void of shape, color, depth, life. They create.

He no longer burns them on the shrink-wrap machine. His 50 plus body and quick temper at authority pushed him out. He's happier. They're happier. They love the motion of the back and forth mopping. The love the familiarity of manual labor. It is etched deep within his hands.

I watch mine scribe across a blank page and I see the lines of black ink and penmanship etch memories and stories. He gave me that gift with each gash, burn, and scar. I am forever indebted to labor and love.

Seeing More Than Gay

She was the love of my life for six plus years. I am queer because of my love for her. I was no longer gay because I loved the feel of her smooth, supple body next to me -- the way her breasts pushed against my back. She was not the first. She was the catalyst. I am forever indebted to her for showing me so much more than gay.

Moments of Coming Out

  
There are moments of rebellion of taking risk, fate, and chance and mixing them into a combustible concoction set to explode at a moments notice. Those are the moments of coming out of being who you are regardless of what others think. Those are the moments you know love. I've had many of those moments. For that, I am grateful.

Lovers Become Friends

  
We met at a Catholic retreat designed to manipulate emotions and destroy your ego in an effort to find Christ. I remember seeing her for the first time so clearly: her hair curly, a brownish-blonde, and cut below the shoulders; her beauty marks on her distinguished face; her lighting of candles. I loved her instantaneously.

Gone are the curly locks, now replaced by short straight hair. More prominent are the distinguished beauty marks. Instead of wax candles and Christ, she lights the fire of spirituality in anyone she comes into contact with.

We are no longer lover. We are dear, dear friends. I still love her.

Our Dance

 
We danced. It was simple and uncomplicated. I put my head on his shoulder as he wrapped his arms around my waist and pulled me closer. Antony was playing. We were in love.

We still are.

Questions from 2000

I originally wrote these questions in 2000. The inspiration for these questions came from the quote:

"Ultimately, the entire universe (with all its particles, including those constituting human beings, their laboratories, observing instruments, etc.) has to be understood as a single undivided whole, in which analysis into separately and independently existent parts has no fundamental status." (Synchronicity, Alan Combs and Mark Holland, (c) 1996, p. 12)

I am posting them here because I feel they share a similar sentiment to my current reflection on Leadership and the path I am on. It is amazing to see how we always loop back to ponder the same things.

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If we are all an interconnected "being", then analysis of the self shouldn't be our sole concern. In fact, it really shouldn't be our concern. And what impact does this have on the concept of free will? If we are to have choice, that means we are independent of each other. And yet with this argument we are clearly not independent but interdependent.

Conversely, free will does not negate that my choice has a direct impact on someone or something else. In fact, it may have a huge impact on the world as a whole, on the universe as a whole.

Take a look at the themes explored in His Dark Materials trilogy by Phillip Pullman (The Golden Compass, The Subtle Knife, The Amber Spyglass). Lyra's decisions, no matter how small they were, had a direct influence on the larger universe she was not originally aware of. Similarly, Neo's choices in The Matrix Trilogy also have larger implications throughout the world of both machines and the matrix. In the end of both stories, the prevailing triumphant theme is "love can overcome". What does that really mean? Can love overcome everything else? If it can, what is love?

Certainly it has to be more than just an emotion. It has to be some force that is larger than anything experienced by one person. If it is that large, is it the unifying particle that runs through everything? What does that really mean? What impact does that have on philosophy, physics, biology, religion, the universe?

Can love even be defined? What role does war and corruption and politics play in the larger theme of love? Are there any answers? Or are there more questions that are unanswerable to the human mind? If they are unanswerable, is there a point in posing the questions? And why do we always look for the answers? Why do we want everything wrapped up in a bow?

Is wrapping things up in a bow a Western concept? Is this phenomena of wanting complete resolution unique to the Western experience and culture? In the aftermath of Christianity/Judaism/Islam, we have found ourselves looking at things in a very similar way we look at this page - black and white. Is this acceptable? Is there more we do not know and yet insist we do?