The Lover, The Loved, The Void.

I notice the contraction and relaxation of my heart happening simultaneously. It’s quite remarkable. It feels like being on a swing set in the moonlight. A cool breeze blows past my skin. As I propel myself higher with my legs, I thrust my chest forward. Open Open Open. I am on a brink of something new. During the ascension I experience a sensation of filling up. Then I wince and think, “If only my toes could reach the tip of that leaf on that tree in front of me,” as I extend my legs farther. Before the thought reaches completion, I am brought backwards with as much anticipation that the ascension brought.
The pressure in my belly rises up to my chest. It feels like the moment right before two cells begin to split, ready to create some grand complex organism. The building tension is almost too much to bear. A tickling sensation rides upwards. Although my physical body is going back and as my chest caves inward, I feel the energy being suspended and left behind at that point just where my toes almost touched the leaf. There lies the moment of attachment. I’m leaving that behind now. I tilt my head back and look up at the darkness. A new appreciation for the void that now fills my heart. Yet this void is of not sadness. If anything, it is nothingness. It is a gentle reminder of where I came from in the heavens. I can feel home so close to me, but a spell prevents me from seeing it fully. My angels remind me that I am not to go back there yet. This spirit has a lot to say still. Yet only if my toes could reach the edge of the leaf.
My angel, I sense you sitting in the backseat of my car. I dare not look behind, because I know my eyes will not see and you will disappear just as fast as you came. But my heart feels you. Your legs are probably stretched out, your head resting against the window. I bet you wonder what it’s like to feel the shaky suspension through the steering wheel, or the low anxiety one feels when I’m trying to get to the Ross Island bridge during rush hour. You are probably just sitting back there smitten as can be, though. Not a worry to consider, because those things don’t even think about existing where you come from. With a flick of your hand, you save me once again from an accident. I look up and slam on my brakes. Another close call. I can sense you shaking your head, because you save me probably 10-20 times a day. You remind me that there’s no rush and one can enjoy the ride. So there you are day after day in the backseat enjoying the ride, wishing you were in the drivers seat. What an important job you have. How funny it is that I desire to be you and you desire to be me.
Perhaps you wish to know what it’s like to feel the heart beat of a lover as your ear is pressed against her chest.  I am reminded that I am the lover, the loved, and the void. I lay on the grass surrounded by four trees on an unexpected sunny northwest day. The protection of these gentle giants urge me to take off my turban. I let my long black hair uncurl from the bun as it cascades down my shoulders and down my back. I glance at the long streaks of white hair sporadically placed throughout from tip to end. I smile at these tokens of wisdom. I feel completely nurtured as my head nestles into the womb of the earth. I take out my stethoscope from my work bag. How surprised I am to find each beat beautifully played out in a well rehearsed symphony. It has no question of it’s place and how it should be used. It never second guesses itself. It feels like it has been taken out of my physical body in all it’s beauty, adorned, admired, and even tossed about. Yet it continues to do it’s work like nothing ever happened once it is returned. If it by chance occasionally skips a beat in it’s perfection, it just picks back up where it left off. I bet my angel wonders what that feels like.
My angel reminds me to return once again to the swing. I scared off some teenage boys as I approached the playground that night. My furry companion kept me company from a distance. He was busy rolling in God knows what. He smelled like a mixture of skunk and poop. At least he enjoyed it. That’s how I want to choose to live. I want to enjoy it all, no matter how stinky it gets.
And so my heart continues in this expansion and contraction, both equally enjoyable and yet I ask for more and more as I aim higher. Only the One Beloved understands my experience of this series of suspended moments in  the void, right before the exchange of ascending and descending. Throughout my time on the swing I once again come across an unanswered soulful longing. My soul asks if there will ever be a person that could meet me at this place, right before my toes touch the tip of the leaf. Will he see that he too is the lover, the loved, and the void? Will he be able to find me during the ache-type tingling of my heart when gravity pulls me away? Will he ask for more? Too many times have I been disappointed while ascending higher and higher on this ever changing pendulum only to look back and see the other on his own level of pleasure. No different in distinction of which is better or not, but nonetheless it’s a different viewpoint. The longing to hold hands while on the swing, to not worry that my arm will be broken off or one/both of us will lose grip. I wish to receive the wisdom of timing, never ending patience, and dedication to hold on. I long to hold tight enough to stay at a similar pace as him, but loose enough where we can enjoy the fulfillment on our own.
My toes don’t quite reach the tip of the leaf on the tree in front of me, but the steady light emanating from my chest can. I’ll be satisfied with that.

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