We long for it , yet we canβt enunciate itβ¦. And canβt live without itβ¦a concise synopsis of a repression, which I used to think was romantic. I see the beauty of that. The beauty of the lines on the face and the longing in the eyes, the desperation of bars and drugs. Ya words were βbullshitβ for me in the β70βs, now I am struggling to remember what they areβ¦
Finally, I can say it's time to end the day. I have eagerly been anticipating the surprises you had in store for us on this special Loving Day. πΏπ¦
Thank you, never knew of this writing. Describing suppression of love and reliance on substances suggests an inability to express or receive love, potentially due to fear or past experiences. It mentions gods and demons wrestling for the heart. A internal battle between conflicting desires and influences. The writer is suggesting yearning for love and emotional connection, and the fear of not being able to survive without it. Rightly so, every human needs love of some sort to survive. If you have a flower never pick the flower if you love it.
After I moved from Colorado back to Alabama in the fall of 1995 with my heart in shreds and my head spinning, clueless that a 4-year dark night of the soul, which had lifted in June of that year, would be followed by a 16 month-black night of the soul, which would make the dark night seem like heaven, this little poem fell out of me, which entered my thoughts after i read Ericβs love offering today.
Love without Truth
is mush,
Truth without love
is harsh,
They live together,
or die.
I then was starting to date a woman I had known somewhat for a few years, and she became my 4th wife, and I made some mistakes with her, and the black night came, which felt like half my brain had died, and I wanted to kill myself every day for 16 months, but I didnβt tell her or anyone.
14 months into it, her back went out and a chiropractor didnβt help, and a neurosurgeon put her in traction lying on her back 24/7, and she only left our bed to use the bathroom and bathe, and I prepared her meals.
About 2 weeks into that, she screamed, βWhatβs wrong with my back?!!!β
I sat on the bed beside her and said I didnβt think we suited each other, it wasnβt anyoneβs fault. She said she thought I was right.
The next day, her back was fine.
It took me 2 more months to man up and go live with a man I had met in my motherβs church, who was fascinated with my stories about my mystical experiences, and who had offered me shelter.
The day I moved in with him, I started dreaming again and the black night began to lift.
He was bisexual and was attracted to me, but I had never been attracted to a man in that way, and I was not attracted to him, and he was puzzled, because he felt sure there was something there.
Coming of the black night and off the psychiatristβs pills was really rough. I was told in my sleep that all I needed was a tranquilizer, and a woman showed up at my motherβs church, who eventually told me that God had told her a man was coming to her, who would put God first, and her second, and I said I was that man, and she looked at me like I might be the devil.
The man who was providing me shelter bought a new home and I had to move out and I got an apartment.
The new womanβs and my passion literally was not of this world, and we often went into something unearthly sublime when we were alone, talking, cooking a meal together, talking while sitting on her living room couch, which she named βThe Space,β but she was a church girl, and I felt I was in church wherever I was, and she was a capitalist, and I was a birds of the air and lilies of the field guy, and although she said God kept telling her to let me be me, she kept trying to change me, until one night God told her in her sleep, βYou are not the one,β and she woke up freaked out, and we parted and felt awful.
She then had a dream in which God told her, Adam must anchor into God for both Adam and Eve, and let God discipline Eve. I didnβt like hearing that, but in time I came to see it was true, because women are so downgraded on this world, that maybe deep down inside they ainβt all that happy about God putting them here.
A new woman showed up, whom angels turned every which-a-way but loose and upside down and inside out for about 3 weeks, and healed her of incest with her father, which she had not remembered, and she was an entirely different person, and she became my 6th wife, until it got so difficult for us both that we parted.
Two more remarkable women came, who had dealings with angels, one at a time, and we danced for a while, and then we parted, and perhaps that was the end of my romance days.
When a woman in a bridge club I had joined asked me how many wives Iβd had, I asked her, βAre you sure you want to open that box, Pandora?β She said, βYes.β I said, βEight. One by church wedding, three by judge ceremony, four by common law.β She looked like she might faint.
By then, I understood each of those remarkable women woke up something in me, which I had not known was there, and they enriched my life, even though it was not alway easy for us when we were together.
I also understood by then that my cute line that I was going for a PhD in women's studies was a pipe dream, because no man can get a Phd in women studies, only women can do that.
"Ah that my soul a marrow bone might seize
For the old egg of my desire is broke
Spilled the yolk and spilled the pearly white
and as its melancholy contents grease my path
the shorn lamb baas like bumblebees... "
Anon.
And a different *take* from Billy Collins:
ππΆπΊπΉπ²ππ ππΌππ²
This morning as I walked along the lakeshore,
I fell in love with a wren
and later in the day with a mouse
the cat had dropped under the dining room table.
In the shadows of an autumn evening,
I fell for a seamstress
still at her machine in the tailorβs window,
and later for a bowl of broth,
steam rising like smoke from a naval battle.
This is the best kind of love, I thought,
without recompense, without gifts,
or unkind words, without suspicion,
or silence on the telephone.
The love of the chestnut,
the jazz cap and one hand on the wheel.
No lust, no slam of the door β
the love of the miniature orange tree,
the clean white shirt, the hot evening shower,
the highway that cuts across Florida.
No waiting, no huffiness, or rancor β
just a twinge every now and then
for the wren who had built her nest
on a low branch overhanging the water
and for the dead mouse,
still dressed in its light brown suit.
But my heart is always propped up
in a field on its tripod,
ready for the next arrow.
After I carried the mouse by the tail
to a pile of leaves in the woods,
I found myself standing at the bathroom sink
gazing down affectionately at the soap,
so patient and soluble,
so at home in its pale green soap dish.
I could feel myself falling again
as I felt its turning in my wet hands
and caught the scent of lavender and stone.
The tenderness of tough.
We long for it , yet we canβt enunciate itβ¦. And canβt live without itβ¦a concise synopsis of a repression, which I used to think was romantic. I see the beauty of that. The beauty of the lines on the face and the longing in the eyes, the desperation of bars and drugs. Ya words were βbullshitβ for me in the β70βs, now I am struggling to remember what they areβ¦
Finally, I can say it's time to end the day. I have eagerly been anticipating the surprises you had in store for us on this special Loving Day. πΏπ¦
The most beautiful gut punch I have ever received β¨οΈπ«Άβ€οΈππΆπ
Ripped to smithereens from it on long lost shores of ancient Greek travels by it.
Tales of brave Ulysees for the id of our hopes and dreams.
Love always.
Dave P
ππ½β¨οΈ
Love this!
Thanks Susan for all your astute poetry raves. Dave P
thanks Marcy for your astute comments. best wishes in this New Year of the Dragon. Dave P
Thank you, never knew of this writing. Describing suppression of love and reliance on substances suggests an inability to express or receive love, potentially due to fear or past experiences. It mentions gods and demons wrestling for the heart. A internal battle between conflicting desires and influences. The writer is suggesting yearning for love and emotional connection, and the fear of not being able to survive without it. Rightly so, every human needs love of some sort to survive. If you have a flower never pick the flower if you love it.
After I moved from Colorado back to Alabama in the fall of 1995 with my heart in shreds and my head spinning, clueless that a 4-year dark night of the soul, which had lifted in June of that year, would be followed by a 16 month-black night of the soul, which would make the dark night seem like heaven, this little poem fell out of me, which entered my thoughts after i read Ericβs love offering today.
Love without Truth
is mush,
Truth without love
is harsh,
They live together,
or die.
I then was starting to date a woman I had known somewhat for a few years, and she became my 4th wife, and I made some mistakes with her, and the black night came, which felt like half my brain had died, and I wanted to kill myself every day for 16 months, but I didnβt tell her or anyone.
14 months into it, her back went out and a chiropractor didnβt help, and a neurosurgeon put her in traction lying on her back 24/7, and she only left our bed to use the bathroom and bathe, and I prepared her meals.
About 2 weeks into that, she screamed, βWhatβs wrong with my back?!!!β
I sat on the bed beside her and said I didnβt think we suited each other, it wasnβt anyoneβs fault. She said she thought I was right.
The next day, her back was fine.
It took me 2 more months to man up and go live with a man I had met in my motherβs church, who was fascinated with my stories about my mystical experiences, and who had offered me shelter.
The day I moved in with him, I started dreaming again and the black night began to lift.
He was bisexual and was attracted to me, but I had never been attracted to a man in that way, and I was not attracted to him, and he was puzzled, because he felt sure there was something there.
Coming of the black night and off the psychiatristβs pills was really rough. I was told in my sleep that all I needed was a tranquilizer, and a woman showed up at my motherβs church, who eventually told me that God had told her a man was coming to her, who would put God first, and her second, and I said I was that man, and she looked at me like I might be the devil.
The man who was providing me shelter bought a new home and I had to move out and I got an apartment.
The new womanβs and my passion literally was not of this world, and we often went into something unearthly sublime when we were alone, talking, cooking a meal together, talking while sitting on her living room couch, which she named βThe Space,β but she was a church girl, and I felt I was in church wherever I was, and she was a capitalist, and I was a birds of the air and lilies of the field guy, and although she said God kept telling her to let me be me, she kept trying to change me, until one night God told her in her sleep, βYou are not the one,β and she woke up freaked out, and we parted and felt awful.
She then had a dream in which God told her, Adam must anchor into God for both Adam and Eve, and let God discipline Eve. I didnβt like hearing that, but in time I came to see it was true, because women are so downgraded on this world, that maybe deep down inside they ainβt all that happy about God putting them here.
A new woman showed up, whom angels turned every which-a-way but loose and upside down and inside out for about 3 weeks, and healed her of incest with her father, which she had not remembered, and she was an entirely different person, and she became my 6th wife, until it got so difficult for us both that we parted.
Two more remarkable women came, who had dealings with angels, one at a time, and we danced for a while, and then we parted, and perhaps that was the end of my romance days.
When a woman in a bridge club I had joined asked me how many wives Iβd had, I asked her, βAre you sure you want to open that box, Pandora?β She said, βYes.β I said, βEight. One by church wedding, three by judge ceremony, four by common law.β She looked like she might faint.
By then, I understood each of those remarkable women woke up something in me, which I had not known was there, and they enriched my life, even though it was not alway easy for us when we were together.
I also understood by then that my cute line that I was going for a PhD in women's studies was a pipe dream, because no man can get a Phd in women studies, only women can do that.