in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which i cannot touch because they are too near.
I am not a “dog person.” I am just a person that happens to have a dog. I didn’t see it coming. I’m not that into pets. They are generally stinky, dirty and too much responsibility. There’s a lot of hair involved. Plus, I’m from New York where space is a commodity and I don’t like to share. But by some strange twist of fate, I met a man at my yoga studio. My inner voice said yes to him on the Fung Wah Bus somewhere between New York and Boston. We went to a drag show, then to a strip club where we shared our first kiss, our first lap dance, and as they say, the rest was history. Anyway, the man likes dogs. He wanted a dog. We got a dog.
I didn’t think of myself as a “family person” either. Just a lone wolf passing through, travelling light. But here I am, puttin’ down roots, and…um…liking it. Sometimes when I look at us: the man, the dog and me falling asleep in a pile on the couch, I feel so overcome with love that my heart could just…could just…I don’t know…explode.
To love like this feels dangerously close to the edge of something. What if I can’t hold it all? Will it erase me? I am reminded of a jungle cliff in Costa Rica. Big blue butterflies the size of my hand shimmered in the abyss. For a moment, a part of me wanted to jump into the void with them. To, for however brief, know their freedom. They say to jump means you’re psychotic. But to want to jump? Maybe that’s just human.
Standing on the edge of that cliff wanting to jump is like the nature of love: to be overcome with longing to touch, to know, finally, something you cannot know.
I used to imagine that true love would be an answer. The thing that would make my life right and whole. The great aha moment when someone would switch on all the lights to the hidden mysteries of the soul. The golden key to the universe and everything.
But now, in love, I realize that we can never truly know another or even ourselves, because to know something would mean to know its edge, the place where it stopped. But that edge never stands still. It is always changing. I think the most we can hope for is a kind of resonance, a harmony, a dance with the slippery unknown.
December 6th, 2009 at 3:49 pm
me like november, ’twas a good month, non?