Another week already?

I love the difference between calendar time and experiential time.  Not knowing without thinking very carefully about it whether something happened last week or three months ago… That overwhelming influx of experiences and memories in formation…

Adjusting to a new world is equal parts awesome and traumatic.  The awesome is perfectly logical; the traumatic is completely illogical.  Who still feels fear of the unknown in this day and age?

It feels good to be inspired again.  Creatively and metamorphically.

I wonder if this will make as little sense to me in three years as things I wrote three years ago?

Observations: October 2009

Some things are no one’s business but your own.

Some things aren’t your business, no matter how curious a being you may be.

Life moves forward, whether you are ready for it to do so or not.  If you’re not careful, it will pass you right by.

There are things that happen in life that may seem to beg an explanation.  But when you can accept that the universe unfolds as it should in bad situations, then you can learn to accept the same in good moments as well.

“Bones doesn’t feel the pressure to act or do or say anything that she doesn’t want to.  And no one – no one – can make her. And that’s what makes her Bones.”

Why is it that we seek the approval of others to the point of compromising ourselves to get it?

There is no such thing as too good to be true.  That’s fear speaking.  And we have no reason to fear the unknown.  Just clowns and spiders.

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It’s winter he says of his dream.  It’s winter, and there’s a light snow falling.  Not that that matters, since everything’s already buried under a thick blanket of blinding white.  Isn’t it funny, how even though there’s clouds in the sky still dropping the little crystals on the world, it’s blinding white?

He pauses, then, and I can’t help but think he’s a little sad.  Or not sad, perhaps, but wistful, wishing that it were a memory of tomorrow instead of a dream of yesterday.

There’s a field filled with people he continues, the smile returning to his face like a Woodstock, or one of those outdoor festivals?  And I mean filled with people — it’s weird, how the world flows seamlessly from snow to people and back to snow, and I can’t tell where one begins and the other ends.  Except…  he trails off for a moment, and I swear that I can see his heart skip a beat in his eyes … except for her.

And I don’t know why this is important, or how, but the air is music.  I mean, I know that music is just vibrations in the air, right?  But that’s not it.  We’re not breathing oxygen in and carbon dioxide out, but notes, and harmonies, and polyrhythms. Do you get it?  The air, every molecule surrounding us, me and her, this woman who is the only thing that isn’t snow or faceless people, is living and evolving and shifting.  And there’s no band, at least not that I can see maybe they’re buried under the snow, I think but there’s music everywhere. And it’s the most glorious, intense, powerful, soul-shaking thing I’ve ever heard or felt.

He stops. The smile is still on his face, but his eyes are glistening.  As I watch him, waiting patiently for whatever’s coming next — because he’s surely not going to leave me hanging on this — a lone tear swells on his lid and escapes down his right cheek. He doesn’t even twitch a finger to stop it, and I can barely resist the urge to catch the drop on my finger, like a butterfly that should be touched before it flies away forever.

I think that music that was in the air was unique for everyone that heard it, that it became whatever you needed to hear, whatever would touch your soul at that moment.  And maybe some of those people heard Mozart, and others heard speed metal symphonies, and probably some of them heard silence.  But it was different for everyone, because that musical air was alive and intelligent and just wanted to make everyone happy.

And while I was losing myself in that space, that tick between inhaling and letting it go, feeling the snow gathering on my hands, she turned, and I saw every feature, every detail. And her eyes – my god, her eyes, like stars being born – met mine.

His voice cracks, and I suddenly realize that the one tear has become a genuine river of tears, but all the while, his smile just gets bigger and bigger, and I can’t help but feel some of his happiness myself, so contagious is it.

And I know — KNOW he says with such emphasis that it shakes me — that she and I, in all the world — we two are hearing the same song.

And it’s the only song either of us ever needed.

We sit in silence, then. And I envy him, and his dream, and his memory of the music that connects.

One week later…

Two weeks ago, I met Melisa.  One week ago, we began spending a lot of time together.  Here, now, she’s in an airport in Houston, heading to Vegas for the weekend.  I’m moving, in process of divorcing Cynthia.  And I’m amazed, and overwhelmed, and scared, and happier than I can remember being in who knows how long.

Note the parallels between this and L.A. Story, as far as the endings and beginnings and closures.  Note the weird parallels between the opening scenes of me and Melisa, and me and Melissa, with the immediate attraction and the weekend trip.

(Both are very minor in connection, but worth mentioning, if only for hte sake of appreciating synchronicity)

Two weeks ago, I was ready to be a bachelor in the most vile sense of the word.  Now, I can stop imagining possible futures and the vast potentials I see with Melisa.

Of course, there’s reason to question and doubt all this.  My history is littered with this exact line of thinking, with intensity, with me letting my heart take the wheel.  And while I might deserve criticism for such (and, at least at this moment, I look back on some of the past and wince; the words alone make me feel like, even at this age, I’m trapped in the thought processes of a 15 year old), I don’t regret it. I suspect that most people are lucky to feel once in their lives, if at all, what I’ve allowed myself to experience repeatedly.  And sure, as Stacy says, it’s the mindset of a lust junkie.  But you know, that rush is pretty heady and wonderful. Why not allow yourself to give in?

The answer to that, of course, is found in a trail of broken hearts.  Fortunately, people heal, and I like to think that, over time, whatever pain I’ve caused, on top of being temporary, was tempered or perhaps even balanced out with contributing to their lives, to enriching their thinking, to opening doors or helping to heal wounds — something positive.

But — and I’ve not looked back to ensure that I’m correct here, but I’ll go with my gut and trust my self-awareness — Melisa is significantly different from the past women (and girls, to be honest).  Notably: she and I are, from what I can see and as much as I would ever think it possible, kindred spirits. It’s eerie, frankly, the parallel thinking and history and outlook and perspective.  And I’ve spent so long learning to love and appreciate and enjoy being myself, it’s not hard at all to understand how I feel about her.

For the second time ever — and this is after consideration that I say it (the only other example in my head is Melissa, though I could imagine that, if my memory was worth a damn, I might see Maria in this as well) — I’m attracted to / falling for someone who doesn’t need me to save them. I think  that my hero complex (I need to remember to look that up; there’s gotta be a term for that) has served me well in the past, and helped me shape a lot of myself as well as help others, but it has left me carrying too much weight, in relationships.  As much as my little martyr complex likes the idea of being to carry to weight of two people on my shoulders — and I do believe that I’m more capable of doing so than most — I can’t keep doing it.  I’m nowhere near where I think I should be (and I have no idea where I should be in this life, but I instinctively feel like that place is way ahead of where I am), and I’ve started to resent people around me for it.

Melisa is different because I view her as an equal.  I don’t know how long it’s been since I viewed anyone around me — male or female — as such.  And there’s arrogance there, okay, but maybe deserved?

Hello, me.  Shut the fuck up. I’m working shit out here.

She’s passionate about music like no one I’ve ever met. She’s funny, and she laughs with me. She’s intelligent. She’s absolutely beautiful. Laid back. Honest and open and communicative. She mysterious without being so intentionally.  She’s amazing in the bedroom. I feel challenged with her. We talk without any end in sight, and without the need for distractions (has that ever happened?  Again, falling memory, but I don’t think so). Looking into her eyes is like looking into the sun, and her kiss is like the moment between a breath and a scream.

I’m losing thoughts.  I really wish my brain didn’t work this quickly, or that I could type 18,000 words a minute…

I think that maybe the timing of all this — not so much her weekend away, though certainly that on a microcosm; but with the divorce, the fact that we have to take it slow[er than usual] is maybe the universe’s way of assuring me that this is everything that I think it is. Or maybe ensuring that I appreciate it all, that I take it all in, that I remember all the lessons of the past 37, almost 38 years.

I questioned the timing — how can I possibly jump from Cynthia to Melisa with such intensity, over such as negligible time frame? — but then I realized that, for all intents and purposes, Cynthia and I have been little more than roommates who once shared some interest for a year or so.

I’ve not felt this alive in — how long?  Everything seems so much more intense: smells, sights, the sound of music, the feeling of fall air, the buzz that comes with too little sleep, the touch of her hands on me, the excitement of the now and the curiosity of the future.

And maybe, too, the fear, that feeling that I haven’t felt in a very, very long time. Had I shut myself off from the rest of the world, to protect myself, and in doing so cut off some of my senses? Or was I just not so attached to the ideas and souls around me?

On one hand, the answer matters, for my curiosity and passion for knowledge. On the other, it doesn’t matter at all, because when she’s near me or in my thoughts — which is most of the time — I feel like everything is finally falling into place.  That I’m finally getting the rewards that I’ve worked and suffered for.

What happens next? I don’t know.  History would suggest that there’s a period of intensity followed by contentment followed by a strong sense of “time to move on”.  But there are already cracks in the foundation of “going by experience” — some utterly minor, some overwhelmingly huge — that I’m not afraid to ignore those thoughts.

It all feels, whatever else, real and right.

Of course, if we are as much alike as it seems, then she’s having the same thoughts, and the same fears.  So does that make it more likely to work out, with double the awareness? Or do we double the odds that one of us will get bored?

I suppose I owe it to myself to consider these things, if only to avoid getting blindsided. But I’m also determined to feel hope, because I can see us as unstoppable, the envy of anyone who’s ever dreamed of an ideal love.

And, too, there’s this, perhaps the most important part of the equation: I’ve found someone who could, very easily, end up being the best friend that I’ve always wanted to know existed. And maybe that’s all that really matters, and the rest is the most excellent icing on the perfect cake.

It’s time to stop listening to the voices inside that other people have put there, the voices that talk about what should be done, the rules, the right way.  Those voices have never in my past worked for me or made me either happy or who I am.  It’s time for me to give the wheel back to my gut, my instinct, my heart, and revel in all of this. The over-analysis will continue, I’m sure, because that’s me, but that’s okay, because the little discoveries tucked in the folds of our conversations and my considerations of her have already surpassed any other person’s in my life.

Too good to be true?  I think maybe Melisa might be proof that there’s no such thing.


You’re just too good to be true.
Can’t keep my eyes off you.
You feel like heaven to touch.
I wanna hold you so much.
At long last love has arrived
And I thank God I’m alive.
You’re just too good to be true.
Can’t take my eyes off you.

Pardon the way that I stare.
There’s nothing else to compare.
The sight of you makes me weak.
There are no words left to speak,
But if you feel like I feel,
Please let me know that it’s real.
You’re just too good to be true.
Can’t take my eyes off you.

I love you, baby,
And if it’s quite alright,
I need you, baby,
To warm the lonely nights.
I love you, baby.
Trust in me when I say:
Oh, pretty baby,
Don’t bring me down, I pray.
Oh pretty baby,
Now that I found you, stay
And let me love you, baby.
Let me love you.

You’re just too good to be true.
Can’t keep my eyes off of you.
You feel like heaven to touch.
I wanna hold you so much.
At long last love has arrived
And I thank God I’m alive.
You’re just too good to be true.
Can’t take my eyes off of you.

I love you baby,
And if it’s quite alright,
I need you, baby,
To warm the lonely nights.
I love you, baby.
Trust in me when I say:
Oh, pretty baby,
Don’t bring me down, I pray.
Oh pretty baby,
Now that I found you stay
And let me love you, baby.
Let me love you…

Yet more on perspective

Don’t be afraid
Open your mouth to say
Say what your soul sings to you

Your mind can never change
Unless you ask it to
Lovingly rearrange
The thoughts that make you blue
The things that bring you down
Will mean no harm to you
And so make your choice joy
The joy belongs to you

And when you do
You’ll find the one you love is here
You’ll find you
The love yeah

Don’t be ashamed no
To open your heart and pray
Say what your soul sings to you

So no longer pretend
That you can’t feel it near
That tickle on your hand
That tingle in your ear
And ask it anything
Because it loves you dear
It’s your most precious king
If only you could hear

And when you do
You’ll find the one you need is here
You’ll find you
Love you

What Your Soul Sings, Massive Attack

When good things happen to us, we become suspicious, questioning the veracity of the moment.  We wonder if what’s in front of us is too good to be true.  We seek out the catch, the fine print, the hidden price for what’s being offered us.

When bad things happen, we may question, “Why me?” but we accept that the bad things happen.  It’s an every day occurance.

I lost my wallet.  Damn it.  I guess that’s just the way it goes.

You want to offer me a great deal on the car that I want — in fact, need, as my old beater finally gave up the ghost?  Okay: what am I not seeing? What are you going to pull on me here?

Why do we do this?  Do we not deserve the good things in life?  Do we bring so much bad on ourselves that the good seems undeserved?

I’m as guilty as anyone else of this, but I’d like to not be. I don’t want to be suspicious of the good things in my life.

It took me a long time and a fair amount of effort to get past the point of stressing about things I can’t control. I realized that I was missing out on a lot of the present by either obsessing about the past or worrying about the future — one which I can’t change, and one over which I have very little control — and so I fixed that.  But now I wonder how much I might be passing up in the world because I think I don’t deserve it, or that it goes against the rules and expectations set up by society-at-large.

Especially given my proclivity to ignore those same rules and expectations.

Little by little, I’m learning, I think, how to make a world that is, if not better, then at least a little happier.