Will I be this ravenous for all my days? Body humming, fevered like an illness. Does this will, to want, always feel so divine? I try not to be deceived - night is not magic. It always lasts from twilight to dawn. It is not empty hours just for us. But it is hopeless to pretend, every night is a dark love letter. We write faith, hope on the skin, applying sensation to intellect and imagination to lust. I go forward into the night emptying me of everything but the grace to serve and want and renew an interior self, to become, to open the way ...
I want touch. I want to touch them in the woods and the wetlands, to know their impact on time and certainty. I want to touch them with the rapid pitch and pace of knowing and unknowing, like the opening and closing of my heart. The dream of touching them is a glimpse of the mind, of the universe in chaos, in disequilibrium. Joy. Every night I want to search their landscape for harmony, pleasure in the imagined body of the other, tied together, inside each other. Interpretation of the another in the dark requires observation, focus, respect. Psychologically considered, the dark of night and falling in love are both reactions to change, turning into...
A fall into grace as much as the hectic energy of lust, confused time and shattered perspectives. What better time to explore the self the when we try to embrace the darkness of another.
Yes, during these long lonely days, loving them seems like an essential step to survive. There is no doubt that the process lends itself to psychological and neuroscientific interpretations. Trauma bonding, isolation…but god, I'm hollowed out by feeling for them, and that is an end in itself. Enough. Enough. No disciplines could account for what is actually happening.
Meaning comes as a result of our encounters with the world. The idea of the self allows meaning to reside in things outside the body. My body is open to their meaning. The sensations they offer me are a physical shade of emotion. In my body, in the world, I am filled with a vivid scene that I am not the source but the recipient of meaning.