a life that I love

I am tired in a way I don't know that I have ever felt before. I sleep like the dead, and it is never enough. I know there are dreams, but I cannot recall them. 

When I rise from bed my calf muscles are tight like clenched fists. I relax them in the shower under steaming hot water, and some walking around the room, altogether about an hour. Then I inevitably have to go out in the morning, and get back on the bike.

I miss Yoga, but I still can't bring myself to even do sun salutations in my room. Every few days I force myself to run 5K on a treadmill that seems tenuous under my footfalls. Exercise is providing my introduction to the metric system. In other words, I no longer have much concept of what the numbers mean, and I just run like hell.

I have been eating lunch meat sandwiches and veggies with hummus for almost a solid month. I miss having a kitchen and eating warm food, and NOT eating the same exact thing every single day for a month.

This weekend I will begin the creation of my new personal life. Which gym will I join? On what schedule will I work, workout, and commute? How the heck will I approach food now that I have to shop every couple of days? What will become my new favorite recipes for one? For two? I am back at the drawing board preparing to draft new specifications on this newest iteration of myself. Time to focus on the basics, and engineer a life that I love.

A story about love. Part III

As it would happen, she confided recently that her heart is not actually totally closed to me. The newest incarnation of our dynamic is that we are living in the moment, with no doors closing to what the future may hold, and yet still no promises made to provide for that which my heart most keenly anticipates now.

To a logical person such as myself, I have truly been struggling with this. Practical wisdom does not ordain a happy ending in this chapter. Conventional wisdom dictates what some of you may have already concluded; that I am setting myself up for failure. That may indeed be true. Instinctively, I find myself resisting this scenario with her, and asking for how long must I allow my heart to continue to swell for her without reward? For how long can I bear the openness of my own heart? For how long can I sustain this unfed yearning? Will she ever reciprocate the intimacy I want to share with her? You can be certain that you have not imagined any argument against this that I have not already considered.

While all of this is happening, I could not help but think back to another epic infatuation I maintained that ended very painfully last year, and my human instincts recoil and advise me to protect myself from experiencing that pain again. Yet already, if I am being truly genuine with myself, I can see that this interest in her is nothing like the last. She is different (she does have love for me, is physically attracted to me, and has demonstrated as much), the circumstances are different (as no two scenarios are the same), I am different (with any luck), and I have already changed my ways (I overcame my fears and went for it), which means our history together is already different from the past...and yet my instincts still collectively cause a tremor of fear to electrify my senses and keep them on alert.

Here I am, suspended in this precarious situation, and I know that if I struggle too much against it, she will actually close her heart to me. I also know that my fear insists that I do not stay where I am, exposed, heart continuing to swell and grow in her light. For what will be the outcome if I remain here indefinitely and never win her love? What shame and embarrassment and pain will follow me throughout this experience, and then continue to haunt me when at last I am able to love again? How will it feel to love so deeply, and then to be rejected? The truth is that these are logical traps, although I do not yet understand why. What I do know is true is that if I continue with these traps, we will have nothing but bitterness in the future, and that is a fate I cannot bear.

Her insistence that we remain present in the now, and not judge what is there, echoes in my mind. I am confused and frustrated by this. I think to myself that I am not Buddhist...and yet...I want to see, for I know I cannot reject her premise without truly understanding it. So I begin my research, and what do I find? I find revelations which both astound and annoy me; astound because they may contain the guidance I need to remain gracefully in limbo; annoy because they may contain the guidance I need to remain gracefully in limbo. My ego does not want her to be right, because it means that I must continue to feel the discomfort of possessing such a tender heart with no promise of salvation from itself.

When I discovered the first link my eyes widened like saucers, and in listening to the words of Pema Chodron liken the experience of unrequited love and how it can relate to Bodhichitta, I wept deeply. According to Chodron, love is not about our partner. It is about us. It is about seeing qualities in our own hearts reflected back to us. We yield against our own defenses, which is usually a hardening of our hearts, and instead soften in the relationship. Therefore, love is a way in which we become more open, and our hearts grow. When love is not returned however, for some inexplicable reason our hearts continue to grow and soften. The reason we cut ties when our affection is not returned is because we cannot stand the sensation of our own vulnerability; to our own softness in the absence of reciprocity.

Enter the Bodhichitta. Now this is a complex concept that I only just discovered today, so forgive me of any misstep as I try to parse this into words. Essentially my understanding is that the Bodhichitta lives beneath the armor of all of our defenses. It is the humanity that finds compassion for our sworn enemies. It lives in each of us, buried deeply beneath all of the mechanisms of protection and walls we build to keep people from triggering past pain. So from this oversized heart absent of all of its walls, we may harvest this beautiful compassion and enlightenment, but we must not shut ourselves down. We must not harden.

Therein lies the beautifully tragic connection between unrequited love and Bodhichitta. For me, I find that I am wearing this gigantic, hugely swollen heart that has completely opened itself like a Lotus at midday. For whatever reason, my heart felt it would be safe to bloom and present its most delicate anatomy to the exposure of sunlight and oxygen. While waiting for this to be reflected back to me, too much time has passed. My heart has gotten bigger and bigger, and just past the point of ripening, it wants to wilt. It wants to close over upon itself and take all of its fruit and blossoms into the ground from whence it came to rot and await a new seed to be planted. But there is still something living in this heart. There is still compassion. There is still love. And in this single solitary moment, I cannot deny it. So to awaken my own Bodhichitta here, I must not harden. I must stay open to all of the pain that it brings, as well.

So here I will sit with this passionate love. I will continue to let her inspire and influence me, and to clutch at the discomfort of my overgrown heart. I will struggle against the suffering I have created for myself; the pain that is defined by my own intense desire going unmet. I do not know that I have the stuff for this. I am not certain I will not break things in this delicate space. I only know that I want this elusive Bodhichitta to come from this, and not to have my passion - which can be so beautiful - become the destructive force and consume this love with bitter resentment.

A story about love. Part II

By the time I made my confession, I only had a few weeks left in the country. I asked her to dinner much in advance of that, but we were entering into the holiday gauntlet, and it was probably lucky we were able to squeeze it in when we did. I told her over dinner; at dessert, actually. The way I presented it to her required no response. At that point I was just grateful for the opportunity to tell her. I remember thinking she took it rather well, just before the lights came up in the restaurant. At that point we checked the time, only to discover we were so engrossed in the conversation that three and a half hours had passed, and we were still not yet ready for it to stop. We took the two remaining beers in the six back to my apartment around the corner, after I promised to be on my best behavior, of course. There we stayed until she finally left at midnight. It was a six hour affair, but was not a Date. Flowers, dinner, great conversation, but definitely not a "date."

From then there were fits and starts. One part of her was very clear that she wanted me, and another part of her was very clear that she would not pursue anything. Both of these parts would continue to do battle. There were some intimate moments shared. There were also rejections. All I knew was that when she came around me, I felt the blooms open and my heart would pump harder, and everything was right with the world. I was doing my best not to have expectations, but that got tricky the closer we became. My heart was already hers, but when she gave me all of that attention, I did not stand a chance. I fell for her utterly and completely. She is everything I ever wanted in a woman, and not one thing I do not like. Each new interaction makes me like and respect her more, even when it has the occasion to sting.

Then our three weeks were up, and I think it was just too much for her. She clearly enjoyed getting to spend time with me, quite a bit actually, but there just was not enough time. There was too much at stake. I was leaving the country. We really did not know one another at all, truth be told. It was upsetting the balance in her home life. For these reasons, and possibly others, she jilted me on my way out of the country. That is a generic word I am going to use to summarize a series of unfortunate events that happened. Essentially, she was there, and then she took her heart and went away from me, without warning or explanation. She did not offer me any consolation. So I left the country like that, carrying a deep sadness with me along with all of my baggage.

Even after I landed in Europe, for some reason I still did not get that she had completely withdrawn from any romantic pursuits for about another week. I actually had to ask her point blank if there was any hope. She said unequivocally no, and yet she wants to be my friend, and she is still just as wonderful to me as she ever was. She is truly sensitive to my feelings, and makes an effort to be considerate and give me time and space.

Everything I read online tells me that I will have to take space for myself away from her, and yet when faced with the prospect of closing the door on a friendship with her, every fiber of my being rejects it. I cannot give her up. She has influenced me in many ways since I met her in March, most of them having nothing at all to do with attraction. We have done nothing but help and learn from one another. However painfully my heart sings for her unrequited muse, I know that I am better off with her in my life.

In terms of the pursuit of love, she has told me there is no future for us, and that is what I am trying to accept now as she and I begin to redraw the boundaries. We are, after all, thousands of miles plus an ocean apart. Alas my heart knows nothing of distance, and is not ready to let go of those precious fleeting moments that we did share. I am still swimming in my memories of her being in my embrace, eyes locked together, suspended in the brilliance of a single moment.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zUimRLO5G0E

A story about love. Part I

It was a Friday in March when I first saw her. I was attending a Yoga class in the gym offered by my employer at the time, and the instructor entered the room. She was a petite brunette whose smile spread across her face as she approached me with hand extended, and said, "I don't believe I've had the pleasure. My name is Adriana." I was instantly attracted to her. Her wide green eyes were so open and warm, and her presence was so sincere. I realized that her hand was awaiting mine, and so we shook and I said, "Butch."

I don't recall much about what we did in class that day, but I do remember her guided meditation. Her closing was, "Think of the seeds you have planted in your life which you would like to take root and bloom." At the time I was undergoing some pretty major change, and was still waiting to see some of the positive effects. Suffice it to say, her closing reached inside of my heart like an invisible hand and alleviated tenderness that was previously unnamed. I left the class uplifted. I was impressed by her holistic beauty. She was lucky enough to be born beautiful, she worked hard to take care of herself and keep a flawless appearance, and her light shone from within so brightly that it illuminated even some of my own inner darkness. It is quite possible that I fell in love with her on that day.

Of course I faithfully attended her class, even though it was probably below my skill level. I asked her to suggest a more challenging class, and she shared the name of another instructor, Renee, who taught a class at the same time on Thursdays. When I joined the following week, I was pleased to discover Adriana in attendance as well. It was a class and an instructor from whom I learned very much, in retrospect. At the time I was doing a lot of healing and changing, so it was very nutritious soul food to be attending these classes in which I was not only doing something very positive for myself, but also enjoying interactions with Adriana before and after, however brief.

After a month or so of this, I was telling a friend about her, who then started to look for information about her online. Her results came back negative: there was no evidence of a boyfriend to be found. In truth, there was not much information about her at all, except that she was in grad school. I wasn't interested in snooping, and didn't want to find out anymore about her that way, so I told my friend to stop. I had to say that to her more than once, but she did stop eventually. I just didn't want that to be how I got to know her.

My confidence swelled thinking there was no man in her life, even though I had a pretty strong feeling that she was hetero. Nothing could stop my heart from these feelings, and so I went on with the crush. I decided I wanted to give her a gift and ask her if she would allow me to take her to dinner. I spent an entire week preparing. I researched old fashioned courtship rituals and studied the art of gift giving. I decided that I wanted to give her something that had no other purpose than to give her pleasure. Since I did not know her, I felt like a mani/pedi gift certificate was a bit much. I settled on flowers. An important symbol in the new age sphere is the lotus flower, so that seemed like a good option. At first I thought I might grow one for her, but as it turns out, they are quite difficult to raise outside of their native habitat. I looked into ordering them, and that didn't work out for whatever reason. Then I stumbled upon origami lotus flowers. PERFECT!

I found tutorials online and taught myself the art of folding an origami lotus. It was a perfect task for me, because it allowed me to spend time thinking of her while doing something thoughtful. It was also a puzzle, which I love to solve. It took about half a day to fully understand and absorb it. Then I went out and bought heavier paper, as this fold is difficult enough that you will rip right through lighter stock when turning the petals out. I got my favorite pens and markers out and I spent the next few days before I was to see her again folding lotuses. On that Friday, I picked the most perfectly imperfect one of them all, and I even published a post on social media declaring my plans so that I would not chicken out.

In class that day, she finally mentioned her boyfriend. My heart imploded upon itself, but I did not stir. It was a feat of great self control not to run from the room, but I somehow managed to get through class without incident. Afterward I decided to give her the flower anyway. I approached her when her back was turned. When she turned around she was holding a ringing phone she had to answer. I awkwardly bestowed the gift. She hugged me, and answered her cell. I left the locker room defeated.

Less than five minutes after I arrived back to my desk my phone rang, and it was her. She was calling from her desk, and it was then that I learned her last name. She thanked me for the flower, and apologized for having to take the call. She suggested we grab coffee together sometime, as she finds me "terribly interesting."

There was just enough promise in this interaction to restore my mood. I remember now what she said then, because I remember every compliment she ever paid me in those first couple of months. Just like I remember when we were talking about how I foolishly push myself too hard in physical exercise, and she said it was my Warrior Spirit. Those were the comments that signaled to me that the way she looked at me was not the same as your typical straight girl. She could see more of me than others could. Unfortunately for both of us, I don't think she knew it was happening, or how it made me feel.

I did not take her up on her invitation to coffee right away. I was quite wary of being made to feel inadequate and dissatisfied by chasing someone I could never have. I kept going to Yoga, though, and along the way I discovered quite a few common interests that I can otherwise share with no one, like the fact that I was waking up at 4:30 am every day for training. One day she asked me what time I got up, I answered, and she blinked at me. I think she was stunned. She told me she does, too. My jaw must have dropped. It was then that I decided to make that coffee date.

It was in this fashion that seeds were planted, roots took hold, and something started to grow inside of me. My love for her bloomed and consumed my chest with beautiful blossoms. It was a season of sunshine and joy. I could see the risk looming ahead, and I did not care.The way that I felt about her and the things we shared, however minor they might have appeared to an outsider, filled me up with purpose in a way I had long since forgotten. It was my love for her that brought me to the realization that I had been suffering a great deal at the hands of "love" for far too long. I was invigorated and primed for the chase. I began to write poetry again after taking such a long hiatus from it that I actually convinced myself it was a younger man's trade. My heart was well again, and singing for her muse.

To be continued...