Enjoy that Love

I'm always surprised how much better my life can get. How much better it can feel. Remember when you used to build forts when you were a kid? Or maybe you still pull the covers up over your head sometimes.

That's what we're supposed to feel like walking around. It takes some doing, of course, and some maintenance, but it's like having coffee, heroin, sleeping pills, andt-depressants and anti-anxiety medication naturally at your disposal. And unlike many I am certain that nothing needs to change politically or socially before this is widely available. In fact, I understand it as our birth right.

In fact of fact, I don't think our politics or social situations, or even our relationships get much better before we do. We're leading the way, not Washington, not the middle east, not Hamas, not anyone--we are. And they respond to us.

And it can/will/is turning on a dime.

I had a great dream last night that Will and Grace were having sex in a church--to show the congregation that that was holy. I stepped up to the front and put a few things on the altar and everyone was aghast--sacrelidge!

I started saying that at one point every thing on earth--every group of people, ethnicity, sex, economic status, education level, race and age had been told they were unholy. That every one of us in the church knew what it felt like to be told that, but that it wasn't true. That everything was holy. Even the things that person x, y, or z thought were unholy.

I like that image of Will and Grace. Not the tv show, but the western world as will--it's uses and abuses (still holy, just perhaps not as enjoyable), and the east as grace--beautiful and also horrifying at times. And them getting down right in front of everyone.

I'm not going to lie, I didn't even want to particularly see it. I have my own unholy catagories like anyone else.

But I have also seen first-hand. Felt. How hold union is. And how crucial a part of what we are doing it is. It's no mistake that the most popular artists of the last 100 years, world wide, have been charged with bringing sex out of the dark into the light. Often using holy, church rhythms. And getting kicked out of their homes proverbial and literal for it. Ray Charles, very overtly, Al Green, and just about everyone else.

Sex is also the most powerful of powers, so it didn't come easily. Many of these artists were burned by it. Some consumed. It takes a radical discipline to enjoy the freedom that we have available to us. And a radical freedom to keep the discipline from making us so uptight that we loose our groove thing in trying to moderate it.

That's pretty much the history of white folks right there. And probably speaks to a lot of why we love black folks so much, but often can't admit it. We've got the will, but need some grace. Which requires the relaxing and slowing we so desperately crave, buy magazines about daily, but find so elusive in practice. (As if we weren't going to be here every moment anyway).

It must have been really hard to get the crop in before the winter came. And really scary. For a long time.

I was raised, not necessarily overtly, but almost absolutely, to believe that what you wanted was a sin. That what you wanted would leave you penniless. That a Plan B could provide a decent life. That it was possible to work a Plan B while somehow committing enough to Plan A (that's what I'm going to name my magazine, btw) to make it happen. That Plan B was safe.

And I certainly accept that I may have taken this advice more deeply to heart than many. Even most. But i took it. I swallowed the whole thing.

And I wanted to on many levels. It was safe. It could be moderated. It meant that I wouldn't have to live real time, be wrong (gasp), take chances, put it all on the line and reliant on who I was to pull it off. Plan B meant I didn't have to bet on myself.

This post isn't about sex yet. Maybe money is foreplay.

My greatest fear in life was that I didn't love the right people. That my physical attraction wouldn't lead me, couldn't lead me, to my highest self--to god.

It's almost a cliche, but in a very real way I thought the male sex was backward. That our "way" didn't work. That physical attractin, assertiveness, and being clean were all (I read the term in a story about a feminist yesterday or I never would have remembered it) military-industrial constructions.

What the fuck does that even mean?

I can still remember very clearly being made fun of when at the age of 11, or 13 or something, coming across a bra ad in a newspaper and saying, very naturally, almost involuntarily "Focus, Focus". Whoever was in the room, or in the next room made fun of me and what had been a normal appreciation went straight to shame. I took me another 25 years and two-thirds the way through my book to write "I like fucking". A bit crude out of context, but a real expression nonetheless.

I have no idea where I got the actual idea that desire was a dead end inhabited by moping romantics deemed "hopeless" but I definitely did.

I can also tell you where I got the idea that this whole thing could work if done properly. That life could be just about perfect if approached in the right way.

It was while I was fucking.

I was also making love, because I was in love, but the fucking aspect was not absent at all. It was not necessarily tender, although its lack of Halmark type sentiment, it's lack of premeditation and affectation made it even more love-ing and love-ly. And not just from my side, although I didn't really know that I didn't have to check at the time, my sentiments were very strongly corroberated.

It was a coming together without falling into each other. (At least from my side, I don't know what she was doing). And it wsa then that I realized that love could be done by one's self. Not by one's self as in alone, but from one side. That if I was completely willing to be myself as long and as hard as I humanly could, then that would naturally result in a radical, identical opportunity for the other person as well.

But I couldn't ask for permission. I just had to do it.

And that that was what the other person wanted me to do (as long as I was being myself)--even if she said something else. Sometimes especially when she said something else.

It was in that relationship that I also realized that it was possible to remain yourself in a relationship. Necessary even. And that that would almost necessarily cause some thrashing and drama from the other person. As their lower, "I want someone to save me, I think I'm tired of being myself" viewpoint did battle with their higher self.

My friend Leonard once told me that love was the most powerful and supreme addiction. Essentially that it needed to be conquered.

And I took some brilliant insights from Leonard (and fought some epic battles on the basketball court with him). His notion that we much give and be willing to give ourselves the attention that we so desire from other people is spot on. And a beautiful way to feel the attention we desire--both from ourselves and from others.

But I don't agree that love is an addiction. Notions surrounding love may be our greatest barrier, but the love at the center is as pure as it gets. That's the real thing that all the other addictions--soft and hard--are both trying to emulate and keeping us from!

Love is the greatest teacher. And the purest form of knowledge. One that surpasses head knowledge. Makes certainty and routine spontaneous. Makes us love staying home--with ourselves. Brings us back to ourselves. And god.

But you've got to keep going. If you stop at the marriage and declining sex you're done for. The greatest knowledge is in the sex act itself. And it takes your whole body. And training.

And I don't believe you can just do it THROUGH SEX. YOU CAN'T, for example, skip yourself, skip doing what you are craving to do with your life every day and jump into bed and fix stuff no matter how good you are. Or maybe "in tune" is a better word.

But doing what you most want to do every day--being yourself without fear--and this includes the fear of losing your mate, or being ridiculed by your mate--is just about perfect practice for the power you need to approach the loveli-est of all lovlies without fear.

Back to the story, this relationship ended just about the time my father passed away, and, although, as I mentioned before, I thought I was prettty good--overt--about processing emotions, I think I may have stuffed a bunch of it. Otherwise I most likely wouldn't revisit it here or anywhere else.

It was a powerful relationship. In many ways it felt like we fit. Although I also felt like it was a stretch for me at the time. She was in a number of ways, more powerful than I. Or I believed so and in so doing made it so.

The highs were unreal. And I'd been in love before. And the earlier stuff didn't even rate. And the lows were dead weight. It was my sense the whole time that if I could just even it out. If I could just maintain, it could be unbelievable. For a long time.

But I'm not trying to reminisce here. I just want the truth. If I could really do it all from my side, if by being myself I could be unleaveable, how did it end?

I let her crack me. Guys, you know you can't get left unless you get cracked, right? This is why the myth about women being attracted to assholes is so true. They don't want a push-over, no matter what they say. They certainly don't want to sleep with a push-over. That I can guarantee. But in this bi-frucated, polarized world, we men are taught that we have to choose between being a jerk and being nice. Not true. Not even close.

I was doing fine through the "break-up". I let her get mad and say all the stuff she wanted to say. I let her be in charge of her own destiny and call the shots. I didn't say "baby, please" once. I said okay, if that's what you want.

It was about two weeks later. (I told you she was strong). Right when her ego would have cracked for being aggressive and destroying instead of asking for what it really wanted and creating. I was dazed and confused, on the ropes if you will, and I came up with a reason. Beware the reason.

And armed with that "reason" I convinced myself that me "helping" her--my natural lower self, that also loves to put itself in control and know what's wrong with everyone--would somehow be able to fix stuff. It makes me wince just to admit it.

And from there I'm sure I got a whole bunch easier to leave very quickly. Having gone from a man to some sort of relationship facilitator. Having gone from 50% to 51 or 52%--a difference that under normal, relaxed levels of stress wouldn't have mattered. The more I learn, the more I think it's all in our ability to integrate energy/emotion. I couldn't integrate the fear of losing her fast enough. Probably because I was using her to plug some of my own holes. I was also afraid that she was eroding my ability to write. (At the time I was working on The Love Artist.)

If I could have swallowed the fear of losing her, I probably could have stayed in the relationship. Part of me maybe even knew that. And I don't think that what happened was wrong by any means. Or that w would, or should still be together by any means. But I did love her and I don't care to revisit any of that territory again if it's possible; by ignoring fears x, y, or z; to avoid it.

What if it took twenty years or preparation and training to enjoy thirty or forty years of near bliss? Would you do it? What if it only took ten? What if you had to risk it taking twenty but it might take as little as three before you began to generate serious results. Or it might start overnight and grow from there.

What if a life where you did what you wanted, when you wanted to and how you wanted was possible? Was the natural order of things. And we, adn the way we were raised was out of step? (How could it be any other way?)

What if you could work 20 to 30 hours a week producing things and managing your books, take an hour for a relaxed lunch, six hours a week at the gym and two to three in bed with the woman you love each night. Even with kids?

What if by doing so you could afford to live anywhere? Drie whatever car you wnated? What if the lord guaranteed to take care of you--even though the road to where you were going might include your greatest fears and heroic struggles?

What if when you died nothing changed? What if whatever you believed was true and you didn't get any magically closer to god? What if death just got boring after a while and you decided to come back--with a little quiet part of you still hungry for the feeling of that woman you once knew, that time you read that poem out loud, making that movie that noone believes you can (or maybe it's will) make, racing stock cars, bringing love to particle physics, helping clean up the oceans--whatever.

What if there was a way to do it and be rich? What if the only way to be rich was to do it? What if there was a way to enjoy full, radical, enduring, threatening, love while doing it? What if the only way to enjoy that love was to do it?

And what if, in doing whatever it took, we created a world where near bliss was possible, even probable for our children? Where fears were seen as signposts pointing to greater rewards and drama ignored?

And what if, then, the whole world caught wind of it. And wanted in? And flocked to jock, so to speak. But those who knew refused to become pimps. And instead just kept doing what they wanted? What if inspiration worked--was the only thing that worked? And that demanded of us to be ourselves all the way or endure the consequences?

If you were god, and loved us as your own, would you structure things any differently?