No war, no grief, that would be something to see

Friendship holds my life together, not unlike glue, but more akin to a clean shine. Friendship is that which polishes the gold... our gathered nuggets of knowledge -- it gives our lives a hint of glimmer. It is special, and perhaps, the deepest spiritual connection we can have here on earth. With the exception, of course, of a lover.

This is I do not have -- a lover. As far as friends are concerned, I am beyond blessed. Jessica. Her husband Scott. Miss Laura Lemay. My mother. Clint Sabom. John Sullivan. Rita Yvarra... our now eight year long friendship through letters. I still have yet to meet her, even though, she is every bit a part of my daily life as are the people I see every day. Otherwise, I am mostly okay alone. Intorverted at heart, as Clint says.

Speaking of dear friends, I spoke to Clint this evening for the first time since Thanksgiving. Before then, it had been nearly a year. We spoke on and off through letters, perhaps three times, while he was away at the monastery. I think these two or so years of some distance have been good for us. We spoke tonight about many things, including the places we were in our own lives two years ago. We've been through rocky times together, when things were chaotic, and we did not treat our frienship with the greatest of care, but instead were careles with it, pushy, aggressive, and disrespectful. We can laugh now, maybe chalk it up to youth, to immaturity, to lack of spiritual depth or better put... lack of spiritual acceptance.

The bond between us has always, from the moment we met, been a deep one. Karmic, I am certain. As I said tonight on the phone, in my past, as a young and immature girl, I never knew just how to handle such intense spiritual connections. With him, for instance, I was never attracted, but the love was strong and therefor suffered its own moment of confusion. Like brother and sister, kissing one single time on the lips, and being utterly disgusted and angry at eachother for it... disappointed. What the hell? Why did you do that? And we look at eachother like foreign enemies for a second, and storm away, feet stomping and grossed out. And then the formative years pass by, we grow up a little, learn to greet one another again as adults, and then we laugh... laugh at the ridiculousness of ourselves.

We talked tonight a bit about L. as well. He asked me how he was doing... I don't know. Do I think about him still? Of course I do, but not nearly as often. When I check that place in my heart, it is usually still, silent, and unmoved. But there are still times when I it tugs, when it aches... when it misses. We learn to accept, as Clint says, the things that fall along the way.

So what was it? He asks me. What was it?? That whole thing? What was it really about? Well, okay, perhaps I am in a better position to answer that now, objectively. I've moved far enough now beyond it that I can actually turn around and see it for all that it was.

Two souls, very similar. Two intense spirits, equally matched. Someone I more than likely knew from lives beyond. A gorgeous meeting between two very intricate people. But as Clint said tonight, born in the wrong times. I see it as a matching, or meeting, of two highly charged particles.... and when they came together, proved combustible. Like a match struck on an oil leak. The explosion lent itself half of the passion, and half of the destruction. It was powerful, and devistating. Clint says, it was two people not understanding that they were at two very different places in their lives, but only seeing love and the magnitude* (magnetic impulse) towards one another, that they were bound to break the others hearts. For L., as Clint sees it, there was a surpising falling in-love, that swept him up, in the very midst of the relationship.... and yet for the girl involved (me), it was an after-the-fact discovery. Love was realized at separate times. And this wasn't even what caused the fall.

Take a twentytwo year old young woman. Her borders are not well-defined. She is highly inconsistent. She does not know who she is entirely. She isn't even sure what she wants. I don't care how well-adjusted a twentytwo year old young woman may be, she cannot escape the situation of this point in her life. This IS where she will be, where she absolutely MUST be. It's called the process of life -- growing up. And it aint over yet at twentytwo! Hell, it's never really over...

Then, take a fourtyfive year old man. He does know what he wants. He does know who he is. His morality is consistent with his behavior. His wants are consistent with his actions. He does not waver. He has learned that there is only grey when you allow yourself to exist in that borderless place.... he knows, that you make your own destiny, to an extent, by making the decisions in accordance to your dreams, and you stand behind them.

There is a huge gap here. I didn't even know how to dance back then. I know how to dance now. I know how to sing! I know how to be playful, how to not take myself so seriously.... but above all, I know what I want, what I don't want, and I know how to stand behind both of those things. I understand the importance of cementing your own moralities. I also know how to relax, how to feel confident and secure in my own skin, rather than that strange nakedness, that rawness in front of the world-stage I felt back then.

Yes, we would have been beautiful together. If I had known then what I know now. If I had been the woman then, that I am now. But I wasn't. I can't regret that. How could I? It's just a growth process.... it is, what it is. Some things we just don't have control over. A new born child cannot simply come out of the womb and be expected to hop on its feet and take off running. I had to learn to walk; I had to learn to run. I can do both now, somewhat more gracefully. At the least, I fall less. I can hold my head up. I can even wiggle my hips.... these ever-growing curves!! My, my, they don't kid around about the metabolism changing when you hit twentyfive. It's depressing. And yet, pleasantly domestic in some sense I can't make sense out of.

I guess, I hope, that one day I will find a love, a partner, that was half as interesting.... A man who loves gardening, and good flavors. A man who loves art, and beauty. A man who takes the time to get to know who I am, who takes interest in my writing, thoughts, appreciations. A man who cooks breakfast in the morning... who travels, who has his own interests, his own arts, his own snow-globe of enchantment.

I love the song "Hannah" by Ray Lamontagne. I'm listening to it right now. It's really beautiful. Not just the lyrics, but that string instrument in the background that I can't quite identify... perhaps a Cello? It reminds me of an afternoon spent in the mountains, hanging out on a porch with a glass of wine after a long day... a sunset, a healthy sigh, a warm embrace. Even the piano, has a sense of home to it, that's just so damn comforting.

So, where to next? The cards are on the table. St.Louis? Nashville? Bay Area? Pheonix??

The front door is open. I'm ready to take off for flight. I look forward to teaching, and to learning from my students. I look forward to having the opportunity to be passionate about something I am able to teach. I think, honestly, I'd take the happiness of giving to others above a lover any day. Any day.