Revelations of the spirit. They’re not something that happen every day.
Sadly, I’ve come to realize that they are not part of life for everyone, and although everyone has the potential for cultivating intellect and spirituality, few realize that potential.
Kinda like avoiding our own mortality, it’s really easy to ignore your human spirit and the need to let it breathe every once in a while. You know, in between getting the kids to school, practices, work, meetings, social engagements, managing a household and basically being a cog in the modern western machine of false economics and materialism.
Whew! Am I ever glad I got THAT off my chest.
Apparently it’s been bubbling under the surface for a while like a big old rotten egg.
After a rather thoughtful and engaging conversation today, I got in my little car, let out a deep sigh, and then had a mammoth revelation of the spirit. I do not recommend this darlings. No, it’s far more convenient to hover over the surface of human spirituality than to wade through it hip-deep like a cranberry farmer.
Anyway, despite months, heck, I’ll even say years of coggery. That’s a new word folks. It means being programmed in a machine like manner with regard to your approach to daily life.
My creativity has not been placed on the back-burner, it has taken a position at the bottom of my small apartment sized deep freeze beside the frost-bitten chicken legs from 2012. The amount of nurturing I’ve allowed myself to receive is the metric equivalent of zilch, and my connection to another human being in a truly intimate manner has been non-existent. Sex, smexch, I need some intellectual conversation with my pillow partner, and I need it now!
In plain-speak, I routinely am blessed to have very intellectual conversations with some of the most well-educated people around, but there is no emotional connection or long-standing relationship. Don’t get me wrong, I do stand by my previous essays promoting hot and fast meals of carnal delight. Everything has a place in the crazy lives that we live, but these hot-fast-get-it-while-you-can-fiestas-of-flesh do not sustain anyone who functions above the emotional level of sociopath.
It’s the relationships in which you feel safe exploring beneath the surface of the mundane that truly make my heart go pitter-patter. It’s knowing that beyond touch and taste or being held in someone’s arms that there can be elements of the sacred human mystery shared between two people. That’s what ultimately fans the flames of my hope for that kind of intimate connection in relationship.
I miss conversations, even with my friends, that linger over a meal and wine, weave themselves through the afternoon, evening and into the wee hours of the morning just before the dawn. My life is squeezed between getting from A to B, from 5a.m. until my head hits the pillow. Then I get up and do it all over again, and that my dear ones is NOT living
Life has gotten lost in the every-day business of living. It’s an abuse that’s hidden itself well, like the isolation imposed by jealous lover. Today, in the sunshine-filled silence of my little car, the root of my own suffering revealed itself to me and I wept; Thankful for the conversation that inspired my personal reflection, finally exposing that suffering at the source.
When you finally come to know something about your own humanity, you can’t un-know it. It’s the physical equivalent of seeing your naked self reflected in a full-length department store mirror.
It’s time to set a place at my table for another kind of meal. Not the hot and fast kind that I’ve managed to sneak in to satisfy a craving , but the warm, nourishing kind created with love. Heck, with the right wine, there may even be dancing on the tables once more!