modern momentum

“What would happen if you ‘got caught’?” my shrink asks confused. “I don’t know, I mean we just didn’t risk it” I replied, an illogical answer. “Truth be told I don’t any of us really knew how”.

We had been discussing the guilt that had been plaguing me of late. Guilt that was hindering my full enjoyment of my hedonistic time-off. The main goal of this time off with activities entirely focused on calm, was to learn how to marinate in self-served relaxation. The idea being that from this calm, collected, dare I wish, gleeful position that the next steps I need to take will unfold and reveal themselves.

“What was different about the Spa, why were you able to relax there?” she asked referring my restorative Friday at the Nordic baths. “Because I paid for it.”

I wish I could give name to the cross I drag across the floorboards when it comes to my inability to enjoy relaxation. I simply have no clue what exactly it is I am atoning for that seems to be the self imposed road blocker in front of the serenity I seek.

Relaxation makes me so nervous. So much so in fact that it was about five blocks away from the spa on Friday where I became anxious that I would not be able to relax ‘properly’, pausing to ponder even cancelling. It was only through some silly self-talk that I convinced myself to go. Self-talk including the ‘paid for it’ justification in which in order to allow the voice of self-sooth, I had to give words, slightly resentful words, to the voice of self-sacrifice.

I do not have the monopoly on the inability to relax, this I am aware and do not pretend to. Our society fails miserably at the solitude and calm many other societies value as a basic life necessity. Many mingle amongst the masses with mug of coffee in hand; the required drug for modern momentum. Fearful they are that if they stop for but a minute they will face ‘the now’ and not ‘the then’ or ‘the were’. This is not my excuse.

For going on years now I have tried to curtail the thrash about of my internal dialogue so it stays wrangled to the present moment. Its only now at the age of 32 that I can I have started to build up the toolset in order to do this; it has taken this long. Yet tonight as I returned to an empty apartment with nothing but my self and my selfish pleasure at my disposable, I was nervous.

This is how it will be in a mere few months, my own home entirely in my hands. There will be no live-in guard to ensure I will forever keep moving, keep distracting from my own personal stillness. The thought along speeds up movement and crazes mind like that of a hunted animal wanting to run and hide for cover.

I am not sure what I fear or what I feel guilty about. I am alone, this I know. I am lonely yes, but not in the way that disables my waking life. I have acknowledged that I do in fact, much to my surprise, have the desire to bond and in tandem with this I have fostered the faith that it will show up when its supposed to. So if its not that, or the operational aspect of maintaining a single income dwelling, okay that termmade me feel lonely☺, then what is it? I guess there really is only one way to find out.

dem apples

Tonight the moon a moment before the sun slumbered was a lovely apple red against the pale blue sky; a fitting end for a day centered on that inaugural fruit.

“It all started with the Apple remember that” Frenchy says to me this morning as I readied myself for the countryside. Back in the original garden the moment the first red skin met incisor, temptation and desire forever found its place under the myopic judgment of the unseen mystical jury up in the sky. From this point forward inherent drives and desires lacking intellect crossed lines wider than the greatest oceans. Though true for the Catholics, what was my excuse I wondered as I sat atop my apple picking ladder biting into a Cortland with a slight hard on in my pants. Always in the garden, forever unyielding.

I was due to have a date later on tonight, or so I thought but he never called. Truth is I am glad he didn’t, not because he was not attractive or interesting as he was but its the fear of relating again, or attempting to, has made me gun-shy. I am definitely in protective incubation mode as I continue to work the rest of my life shit out. I pondered if I would have been more relaxed if he texted me and said “wanna f_ck” providing a snickers bar level of satisfaction, yet the fact that even that wasn’t sent relieved me as well.

I am forever at a state of defensive dissonance with my drives and this week has blatantly illustrated this. To say I was randy would be like calling the pope religious. An understatement illustrated by the quick turn of my neck to anything pretty and the conversation stopping distraction of all things male that consumes me of late. I need to ‘scratch the itch’ but yet its the risk of confusion that it would cause that keeps me adequately repulsed to not follow through. This confusion, yet more confusion would scare me to death.

I am not afraid of the whole ‘will sex mean a relationship?’ confusion, that clichéd fear that usually is found post bump and grind. Rather I am afraid sex let me down, again.

I was at the Nordic Spa on Friday, a life changing experience. I entered for relaxation and left with sensory restoration. In amongst the hot and cold baths I kept lapsing into meditation so rewarding and accessible it had the ironic ease of everyday conversation in this muted environment. Meditation that was continuously fostered by the sensuality of the space. The last time I had been this focused was Brazil. For four hours I allowed my mind to be governed by my senses and much like after my time in Rio, I left sublimely satisfied.

I am not naïve to sex, nor do I have puritan values and think every moment hot and sweaty must be the making of and or leading to love. I love fucking. Lately however I have become so bored by it. Sitting in the eucalyptus steam room, face wet and shoulders caressed with warmth greater than any hug I have known from a man or woman, I was sullen a moment, saddened by the realization that I have only ever felt this by myself. I fear that if I just ‘scratch that itch’ and play the naked egoic power struggle I have come to know as modern sexuality I will only be reminded of this and I have no room for sad right now.

Red is the color of the root or base Chakra, the energy center responsible for the grounding force that allows us to connect to the earth energies and empower our beings. An apple red usually in text, symbol and ornament, this red was the same red as the moon at sunset. To clear one’s root chakra it is suggested that stomping on the ground or marching will in turn open any blockages. I giggled when I read that as with all the frustrations found in 2010 thus far and the ways I have managed them inclusive of countless kms ran and hours at the gym, my ‘red’ root Chakra is biblically cleaned god dammit.

Newton gained his claim to fame with the fall of an apple, sparking an idea that would change the way we would forever see life. I am not looking for anything that grandiose but this afternoon as I picked and apples fell from the branches above, I have to admit with every thud heard as they hit the ground to decay under the yet to come winter snow, I awaited for the moment of clarity that would bring me insight as to how to answer this question. A law still undefined, I sat atop the latter and bit into another apple.

my situation

“Good for you, most people wouldn’t be so active in your situation” she said as we finished up our meal. “My situation?” I asked confused.

I write this made recently unemployed with no clue what to apply or pursue next. I have a sick father miles away that is about to under go cancer treatment for a spread still undefined at this time. My roommate of the last three years is moving to San Fran in a matter of months with his girlfriend. And yet again, I enter a monk phase where any desire to relate to another man has hibernated for a time to be defined.

To her credit I think she meant the first bit and my recent spending habits when she mentioned ‘my situation’ but I had to giggle as fucked if I could think of what else to do now in 'my situation' but find glee through concert and movie tickets etc. I really need glee right now.

“Most people would stay at home, spend more time at home I guess is all I mean.”

Its being left alone amongst my four walls normally that would put me in a state of fear as I do not well with thinking. Having the luxury to languish with my own thoughts usually leads to a twist of the gut with a life outlook dire. Lately however that is not the case. Thanks to a bald fat man I have learned to steer my own cognitive ship and it’s been such a relief. But still I was a bit offended at the passive aggressive judgment of the statement, even if it was accidental.

I strongly believe you are your thoughts, that if you foster jealousy you beget lack, if you foster envy you end up alone etc. 2010 has been a test of this for sure. Having entered January with sun kissed optimism still glowing from a recent trip to Brazil, I set out to plan the year ahead with authentic and deserving goals only to have the roadmap thwarted at every turn. With two months left of the year I can confidently say it will not end anywhere near where I had planned.

The person that said the ‘situation’ comment is one of my near and dears and truth be told I have never been jealous or envious of her, she is too sweet to. On the night however as she sat there with her husband discussing her anticipatory familial visits to their new condo on account of the upcoming birth, my eyes went green almost in defense. Deep breaths were taken and I got through it. I will forget about the comment eventually but I have to admit that night it was hard.

dear mm

It’s hard for me to imagine that it was only five years ago that I met her in person. She worked remotely from home and as such she held a mystique about her. Our discourse up until that point occurred via email only so on the day i was to go over to her house for the first time I was excited to finally be meeting the great MM in person. I had only heard great things.

Initially I had only made time for a quick run as there was no need for a long visit. As signing authority she needed to John Hancock a few papers and back to the office I was to go. Those original five minutes became many and those many, many more.

I do not work well if I do not have her in my life.

Of late the dialogues with my female friends both married and single has been centered on mothering. It makes sense as that this topic would be of interest as we are of that age where society casts those meant to carry the torch maternity into the race they need to run. Biologically at least.

I am a bad audience for these conversations for several reasons. I wont go into all of them now as it may ring ‘gay misogynist’ and that is never and not my intent. All this to say for me maternal energy shows it strength way past the drip and poop years. Those meant to mother, to guide, to nourish and encourage do so when those that need it require much more than a wet-nap can provide. Those meant to mother do so even if their life circumstance have not provided them children of their own; biological bonds are not a must have.

MM came into my life when I was humbled by the amount of change I needed to do to make myself the version of myself I was meant to be, the version of myself I wanted to be. Change that ultimately included leaving an industry that was making me toxic, a move out of a city I no longer fit and most importantly beginning a period of introspection that defined me as much of the man I am today. First steps to all of this would not be taken if I didn’t feel safe; I had not felt safe until she came into my life.

I wish I knew how she does this as I would bring ‘happy pill’ manufacturers to their knees. Her secret doesn’t reveal itself in her actions but you sense it always. Be it in the warm rasp of her hello at the start of a lengthy phone conversation or the coy stare she gives you during one of her well attended dinner parties, she sees more about you than you do. Being near and around her she makes your own skin, regardless of how unsure you are of it, fit like it should.

After every time we speak there is a part of me that feels guilty. Guilt over my inability to possibly pay her back for all she has brought to my life. An enormous amount.

She called today, asked how I was. I spoke of the current period of change that I again find myself in with my life circumstances demanding endurance from me that I must trust I have. I was reminded of that day five years ago and the relief I had felt as I sat in her home when our friendship began. There was an echo today as I felt the same relief the moment I heard her voice.

Parental energy sets the foundations of self. It establishes the esteem needed to not fear what life brings you with trust in your own ability to navigate; even if you don't have it, you know some one does. It gives volume to your own voice and validates those inherent needs and desires you need to be you.

Foundations were set five years ago, and now I confidently build the second story.

c.s.my.

Today the most beautiful man was at the coffee shop in the village. His eyes, dark and intense like the coffee he sipped, focused on the newspaper crosswords while his hand scribed answers confidentially with black pen. Intelligent and or fearless; either way hot. Dressed in the inherent masculine colors and textures of autumn, his clothes were analogous to the man inside. I watched him a few minutes as he paused to run his hands through his hair, hair more pepper then salt and started to wonder what he sounded like. An easy question to answer with a simple hello on my part.

The evening prior my mother had called and regaled me with a synopsis of one of the McCrime Dramas she had watched that evening in which one the suspect was a gay man whom every time he attempted to access his need to meet other gay men would end up murdering them. She knew not the name of the show and truthfully kept forgetting or changing details of the story, still however I got the gist. “It must be so awful to be that angry like that, I mean the man just never allowed himself to be happy” she said on the phone. Bless her.

I could have talked to Mr. Crossword, I could have said hi but I didn’t. Instead I donned the ipod and went about my journey home.

Now I didn’t stop myself from saying hi out of fear of rejection, contrary to how blatant that may appear. Nor was I afraid of him accepting me and I in turn become like the suspect my mother’s most watched melodrama. I was out of duck tape and black garbage bags anyways. In truth however it was the latter that was more akin to my motive.

During the last few years I have let some dickhead men into my life. Men that when I look back now and see that it was moment one that held red flags felt on a guttural level that i chose to ignore. I let many in.

With this last year I have been letting many of them out and creating a space not empty but rather full of room for new healthier type of relationship. So far the relationship re-org has been predominately on the friend level and the results have been instantaneously inspired. I now surround myself with people that gutturally bring me joy that if needed I could intellectualize their importance to my life but there has not been a need to go that far? Its trite to say, but my sense of self right now is directly reaping the bulk of the rewards.

As I stood in the café looking at Mr.Crossword the dialogue that ran through my head was “not yet, I can’t yet I am not ready”. I would like to say that this was authentic self-protection during a much needed incubation period, but I can't. It would make sense logically though as I am entering the next phase of so many things. However i get the sense I am kidding myself that it wasn’t good old simple basic fear. Normally after a 'cute guy notice and stare' I smile happily, content knowing that there is something that interesting in the world. This time was different. There was an ache in my gut as I put my ear-buds in my ears and pressed play. An ache I still feel now as I type. I think I know the answer, no forensics required.

commerce of conversation

I am learning Arabic in French. I am far from comfortable in French yet, so if I known that this course was in French when I registered I would have likely not. However, having just attended my first class, I am fatigued much in the same way I am when I push myself during a long run. I know it will hurt, I know I it be tough but I know once the pain resides I am that much stronger for it in both form and endurance.

The language in my life of late has been pushed much in the same way. My lexicon internally and externally has had its verbiage audited for dialogues destructive and words now out of date on account of their deprecating nature. Their removal has led to a sublime confidence in both my intentions and actions. Replaced by phrases full of will, my words now speak for me and not against me. Depending on the context and with whom, some are spoken with concrete certainty and others with the fragility of new. Either way they are spoken. The more they continue to be spoken they become like that of the wearing-in of a splinted shin, and my own endurance for myself abounds.

This exercise that has been the last few introspective months have left me with a profound understanding of the value of words if used positively and ultimately the cost for those corrosive. I wonder if there was a cost for everything spoken, a price point for prose, would society still with war and consumerism distract from all those things left unsaid; inclusion, respect, love. We learn big words for diseases, fun words for medications, bad words for difference, mean words from fear, and speak all of them as if they are wholesale. Maybe I am a naïve born again optimist but I honestly believe that commerce of conversation is needed. The rate of return would forbid verbal garbage.

Maybe I am not sure exactly what I am saying; maybe my words are not clear. Until they are I will continue learning Arabic in French.