Saturday, April 07, 2007

April showers bring crushes and flowers

Spring, believe it or here. Here are a couple of rantings that went on in my head for three different men: He is soooo cute! I love the way he wears his hair slicked back. He looks so debonair. Just the fact that I’m using a pseudo French word to describe him hints at the desperation with which I try to be sophisticated for him.

This one has a smile that would melt Tibetan ice caps. He has dimples that twinkle and match his sunny personality and bright periwinkle eyes. He is just the right height. He has a great body and obviously takes good care of himself. He is also an older man. I feel a mixed sense of exhilaration and taboo just having this sort of connection. My friend sees the way that we talk to one another, and later whispers, “you guys have this weird thing” and I nod while giggling uncontrollably, because SHE sees what I am feeling!

Wait! I am not sure if I remember that guy from long ago. I feel as if we somehow met a while back. He has movie-star good looks. It is hard not to dive in his arms and ask him to make out with me behind the coffee machine. I could be reduced to a sniveling child around him. It is not just the fact that he can wear a muslin shirt with khakis with equal grace and ease as he can a tuxedo, or the fact that he is well-traveled and elegantly gentle. He is enigmatic, and I’ve always been a sucker for a riddle.

[I am grossed out with myself for even wanting so many men in such an animalistic way. I try to be ‘breezy’.] Oooo, no this is the one! I feign indifference when he tells me that he wants to talk to me, or asks me where his hug is. It is the fact that even men stop still when they see him. That when he takes me in his arms, even THEY catch their breath. Like, my stock goes up just being around him! I see the looks. The other men will look at me in a way that says, “wait?! Did you just KISS him? Is there something else I should know about you?” I SEE it. The times when it is most obvious is when I am wearing my warm up pants and mismatched jacket. When my tussled hair is wrestled back with a single band, and I wear moisturizer and lip gloss. I think, “He gets me. He knows that the exterior is not important.” THAT is when I feel inspired to take it up a couple of notches’ and let him know that I’m capable of looking sooo much better. That sounds so cheesy, but I keep it in to remind myself of what happens to me when I am around him. All of my reason goes out the door, and I find myself saying, “Are you REALLY coming to my next show? Oh my g! I just got butterflies. Wait, no, my phone is just on vibrate!” I feel like we are 3 inches away from kissing every time.

I breathe. I remember the feeling of overwhelming love that I had in the sweatlodge. It is normal, it is lust, this time. I can have something deeper and more I experienced feeling so many distinct energies meeting in the matrix of love in that sweaty tee-pee last spring. As I step back, that old familiar lust gnaws at me. I try to remember how good it feels to maintain my focus on enlightenment, but I just imagine my scent rubbed on the last one's linen sheets as I unabashedly run around how God made me in his Flatiron District loft. Maybe he’s really dim-witted, I hope, as I briskly walk away, attempting to shake it off.

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posted by Rumi @ 4/07/2007 12:32:00 AM |


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