My latest distraction broke off recently. It was not serious, nor could it ever be. I am coming to accept that I can never love again, or in a word, allow myself to be that vulnerable in this lifetime.
It is too painful every time my hopes are shattered. Perhaps I have a propensity to idealize everything, swinging violently between the most pristine hopes of idealism and the darkest cynicism. A human being must learn to embrace their highest and lowest energies to be whole.
While I am not bi-polar or schizophrenic, each swing does seem to take a toll on this deepest part of my being and identity, which would resemble a soul, if I believed such a permanent thing to exist.
Alas, all things change: self, identity, and even this ‘soul’. Nothing is permanent, and everything is connected.
After my latest distraction ended, I made a promise to only do one-night stands, or ultimately, disappear after physical intimacy, until I die. I might make one exception to get married and have a child of two in Thailand, but I know myself too well. I would run away from that as well.
Like a PETA advertisement, I do not like the suffering of any being, and call it selfish ego, least of all, myself.
I will always remember that fleeting moment in time: After a year of celibacy and inner struggles, she informed me that I could either go into the night, or stay and wake to her in the morning light.
After spending my early twenties in a sea of one-night stands followed by a broken engagement, broken relationship, and monastic life, I decided to live in the moment, and close my heart forever if given a sign this too would end in failure. This would be the last painful failure I would ever endure, if indeed, it failed, which I surmised it would.
Call it a self-fulfilling prophecy, or that my psyche chose failure, to never have to open itself to possible pain again, but I needed to ride out the passion and extract each drop of sweet nectar in pure, physical, and emotional bliss with this woman before the train crashed. I loved, I cared, and I did it my own, unique way.
I did not want to be the living, breathing, stereotype of a handsome and dashing African-American man, who disappears after the first, and only, night of passion. I did not have the strength then as I do now. I realize now, plenty of woman are absolutely fine with a single night of passions, and now, I am the man for them.
Anyway, their expectations have no right to affect my reality, as I consent to nothing but the present moment, as we all must, churning dreams to come, or never to pass, in our collective psyches.
Most of the time, as humans, we do not even have a clue of what we want moment to moment, much less this infinite future.
My mind screamed to go, and my heart yearned to stay. I am such a stupid romantic. My romanticism won, and I stayed. I knew my heart would never truly be hers. It is the curse of my father I have accepted as my own. Both of us, he and I, are too attractive for our own well-being.
The shallow reality of our world gets us into trouble, as we are both too weak willed for a new prospect of variety, and renewed self-discovery in someone new. Like Johannes Brahms, ‘we cannot be fettered’. It is best to be authentic to my truth, than a deceitful liar who promises women the moon, knowing I will never deliver it to them. At least I have my honor.
They know the truth in those first moments of cares. They see the truth in my eyes: I never hide it. They push me away eventually, because they know they will never truly have me.
I do not fault them. I pity myself. I wish with all my heart they will find a man to become their everything—their truth—for eternal fidelity, commitment, and love. I only wish I could serve as a father figure to remind them to never let their love become co-dependent, but rather a healthy inter-dependence, and to remind them that we are all human, and not to over-romanticize their expectations for their partner. There are no princes, princesses, goddesses, or gods. Some days are the depths of darkness, and others are angelic dreams, with many an indeterminate, clenching gray in between. Be sure you can see all with the person in front of you, and meet the challenge together, if you dare to promise any façade of faithfulness.
I respect love and commitment too much to lie, and this is my truth.
Fidelity is my Achilles heel. I am too much a romantic to go, I am too much a coward to stay.
I actually hate people who promise forever to become failures at it later. I hate them with a deep passion that even empathy and compassion make it hard to see through.
I was seeing five women as of late, but only one with regularity. Three of those women now hate me because I refused to meet them again. One of those women is in Thailand, and could give me the picturesque wife and Buddhist family, away from the industrial age of narcism and materialism. The last, the one I saw with regularity, she was my broken bird.
I stayed because I felt she needed me, and I could not bear to hurt her, because she was already hurting. I gave her the last of my strength, after the dissolution of her marriage. I continued to give her the best of myself, with a fever, because I knew she would be the last woman to ever see me at my best.
Every other woman would only ever know my demons, and I needed someone, at least one woman, to remember me in a dream of giving, whimsy, and kindness, as the man I used to be. She will be that person until I die.
I thought of never seeing her so many times. She felt it. I felt it. We stayed until the conclusion, giving all to the moment, in deepest authenticity.
She found a person better suited and called it off. I am heartbroken, yet thankful for my freedom! There are so many conflicting emotions, and I embrace them all gracefully.
It is weird, because she will be the last person to see my goodness.
No woman, even a future wife, will know this me.
I am dedicating my life to my science and my art.
I am as Johannes Brahms.
I left an engagement with a woman I loved. I have loved several others. I have cared more than I should for three married women. I will likely care for many more, yet I must embrace the fact I can never be fettered, and take my karmic punishment for any pain this might cause them.
I found the avatar of my Clara Schumann. She was my prayer, quite literally, the last prayer to my goodness. I guess this means she is now the enchanted object to now hold hopes of both reclaimed and lost innocence. I needed to lose it. One day, will it be returned? Who knows.
In our age of narcissism, we must all learn to say ‘yes,’ and ‘no,’ in equal enthusiasm. Being too nice, and refusing to embrace your dark side is dangerous. Blame, shame, control, censorship, correctness, politeness, and compromise are only society’s tools of emotional blackmail, to convenience others and subordinate you to its will.
You are your reference point for the entire universe. You can close your boundaries as soon as you open them, any moment you feel! In a world of uncaring gray, give me an age of war, and an age of peace—give me both! Extremes are needed in a symphony.
All that remains now is to authentically give this being to the entire world, until the moment I draw my last breath.
Here is to a journey, and being authentic to your own truth, as painful and frightening as that journey might be—in darkness and light—to tread with dignity. Goodbye Bana. Hello new goddesses of my future, endless nights. You are my demons, my salvations, my truth. And as I gather the strength to live my truth:
See you all in Shambhala.
Symphony No 3 In F Op. 90 – Poco Allegretto