She said to me....
"you are everything I dreamed up in my head
about the kind of man I would want for my life".
I said...."well, thank you!
However I'm afraid I just may be a disappointment to you then"
"Oh, I doubt that. We have shared so much.
I am a logical person. I have thought this through. I think I know how I feel".
"Yes. Now let's 'feel' through to the openness of being.
That spaciousness of the unknown. Of the one".
"I want to be one....with you".
"OK. But I'm a married man."
"Yes. I know, and I appreciate that fact
and I think I am open minded enough to be involved
with a married man".
"Well, I don't know what to say.
I acknowledge the mutual attraction but
this raises a host of issues as you well know."
"Yes, I know. I am not afraid
to confront those issues with you more in the future."
"That would be good. I will see you then"
I walked her to the door.
And I kissed her.

BTW I notice a number of views on most posts but few comments. Just wondering?

 

This one is a kind of monologue. I always thought of it as God speaking to me. Or perhaps any lover to the beloved. I think it speaks to the universal quest for love. What do you think?

 

If you say you are the center of the earth
and as hot,
will my wistful blowing not cool
the smoldering flame,
and the sun that birthed your center?

If I set the sky in its light
And you cross its bridge,
will I find you there in the cool
of the rainbow
or in the spark of stars blinking your reproach?

And when the glow of this earth dims
will I see you walking
the path of clay on hind’s feet
and laughing on the peaks of my mountains?

Or will my waters flow to the
earth’s floor to
make streams to quench
your unquenchable thirst?

I think if I search the clouds for that coming
in the day when my mouth eats the sun
I will see you there among the waters,
asking once again
for love’s glad drowning.

copyright 2003, Ron Russo

i like my body when it is with your
body. It is so quite new a thing.
Muscles better and nerves more.
i like your body. i like what it does,
i like its hows. i like to feel the spine
of your body and its bones, and the trembling
-firm-smooth ness and which i will
again and again and again
kiss, i like kissing this and that of you,
i like, slowly stroking the, shocking fuzz
of your electric fur, and what-is-it comes
over parting flesh . . . . And eyes big love-crumbs,

and possibly i like the thrill

of under me you so quite new

“It’s surprising how many persons go through life
without ever recognizing that their feelings
toward other people are largely determined
by their feelings toward themselves,
and if you’re not comfortable within yourself,
you can’t be comfortable with others.”

– Sydney J. Harris

This in response to a discussion about the extinction of species while sitting in meditation this morning:

Classic query: What is the sound of one hand clapping?
My response: There is no hand, there is no clapping,
there is no sound.

Query: What is the sound of one species demise?
It is the thunderous sound of one tear
crashing to the ground.
It is the tear of all form and its joy.
Form arises for a season.
Its mortification sure.

Save what can be saved. Weep for the moment.
That is what we do. Rejoice in the emptiness
of all form. Form is the illusion
that arises to make emptiness seem real.
Is there no thing?
Is there something?
Yes.

(This wonderful passage was given to me by a dear friend who perhaps herself also runs with the wolves)

By way of this metaphor of innocent sleep, the fisherman trusts the life/Death/Life nature enough to rest and to revivify in her presence. He is entering into a transition that will take him to a deeper understanding, a higher stage of maturity. \\ When lovers enter this state, they are surrendering to the forces within themselves, those that have trust, faith, and the profound power of innocence. In this spiritual sleep the lover trusts that the works of his soul will be worked in him, that all will be as it should be. This lover sleeps the sleep of the wise instead of the wary. There is a wariness that is real, when danger is near, and wariness that is unwarranted and that comes from having been wounded previously. The latter causes men and women, both, to act touchy and disinterested even when they feel they would like to display warmth and caring. Persons who are afraid of being "taken for a ride" or of "being trapped" --or who vociferously state their claims over and over again of wanting to "be free" --are those who let the gold slip right through their fingers. Many times I've heard a man say he has "a good woman" who is enamored of him and he of her, but he just can't "let go" enough" to see what he really feels about her. The turning point for such a person is when he allows himself to love "even though"...even though he has pangs, even though he is nervous, even though he has been wounded previously, even though he fears the unknown. Sometimes there are no words to help one's courage. Sometimes you just have to jump. There has to be at some point in a man's life a time when he will trust where love takes him, where he fears more being trapped in some dry cracked riverbed of a psyche than being out in lush but uncharted territory. When a life is too controlled, there becomes less and less life to control. In this stage of innocence, the fisherman returns to being a young soul, for in his sleep he is unscarred, and there is no memory of what he was yesterday or before. In sleep, he is not striving to gain place or position. In his sleep he is renewed. Within the masculine psyche, there is a creature, an unwounded man, who believes in the good, who has no doubts about life, who is not only wise but who also is not afraid to die. Some would identify this as a warrior self, but it is not that. It is a spirit self, and a young spirit at that, one who regardless of being tormented, wounded, and exiled continues to love, because it is in his own way self-heal, self-mending. Women will testify to seeing this creature lurking in a man outside of his awareness. This young spirit's ability to bring the power of healing to bear on his own psyche is so awesome that is is astounding. His trust is not dependent on his lover not to hurt him. His is a trust that any wound that comes to him can be healed, a trust that new life follows old. A trust that there is deeper meaning in all these things, that seemingly petty events are not without meaning, that all things of one's life --the ragged, the jagged, and the lilting and the soaring--all can be used as life's energy

(p.162-163, Clarissa Pinkola Estes, Ph.D. Women Who Run With the Wolves: Myths and Stories of the Wild Woman Archetype).