Is it ok to enjoy someones company if you have a nagging feeling that there is no potential for anything lasting, or substantial? If in your gut you feel like they are just not on the same page, or that their own personal “stuff” will prevent them from meeting you halfway? Is it ok to ignore these things for the sake of appreciating the now, and “seeing what happens”? No, it is not. I already know what’s going to happen.
What is ok, absolutely ok, is to feel exactly as I did yesterday afternoon, as of about two pm. Perfectly at ease, fascinated, open, engaged, safe, and ready. Amazing. I’m tapping at the pedal brakes to avoid my Leonine overwhelming enthusiasm, but whatever happens next might be less important than the realization that those feelings are what I need to feel. Nothing less.
I liken it to the first time my untrained voice realized how to use my breath to properly support the sounds I make. I was filled with more air than ever before, and could sustain the note, and the intensity of the note for as long as I needed to. I hung there, played there with my own sounds, and felt the power and control that I was capable of. Magic.
So, thank you for Saturday afternoon magic. For children pulled from ancient photographs covered in spaghetti sauce before my very eyes. For tiny birds coming in for a landing on my shoulder. For wooden rooms filled with wood. For slow grazing on greens. For bordello teepees. For that nape of the neck image that made my heart sing with how fragile and pure it was.
For remembering something I thought I’d lost a long, long time ago.
Lady Lazarus, at your service.
I love this. It speaks of being free and true to yourself, and it speaks to me too and my life right now. The feeling of being unowned, unjudged, and connected with your own vibe; your own destiny. The comparison to singing is lovely. Also, because many of us hold tension in our diaphragm, the constriction in breathing is key to understanding peacefulness. To exhale completely and then take deep regular breaths is so valuable. My Trombone studies (and then later, training in cycling) taught me this.