Saturday, August 5, 2017

dear pam 2

Dear pamela mammala,
Stop peering into the depths of my spirit.
I look back on a life of conspicuous gentleness and consideration, and know that i might have had forty or fifty lovers by now, had that not been other words, had i been more "normal". The insanity of that sometimes pushes me to the edge. And then i meet a new woman, and i know if i let out the predator in me, i could have her. As the years of loneliness pile up, i feel less and less proud of having been able to conquer my predator so well.
I think about you, and the thought that i might bring you a kind of carnal healing you've never experienced. It wouldn't bother me, if i knew there were other men who could offer you the same. There probably are...but statistically, the odds of you meeting one of them are iffy at best.
In any kind of rational world, we'd already be lovers. And on some level, we are. But of course we'll think all these things through, and easily come up with practical reasons why not being lovers makes sense.
But at a certain point, i feel like the ultimate theme of my life will be "all this useless wisdom" (to appropriate an elvis costello title). We all should be able to just be alive and human in the moment, but it almost never happens.
And sure, we might not even have great sexual chemistry! But when i think about the confluences in our spirits, and striking similarities in our sexual tastes...
You asked whether i were ever tempted to fuck out of hopelessness. Stop being so perceptive! It gets harder and harder for me to keep those demons at bay. With us, it's not just that though. It's easy to imagine being your deep friend for the rest of my time on this planet. It's also easy to imagine spending thousands of hours in beautiful sexual communion.
But don't make too much of my ramblings. I know too well how out of balance i am. If you'd like a metaphor for where i am at this point in my life, imagine a bloody, pulpy body on the road. But one hand is lifting off the ground, and the whispered words emerge, "I will save this world, you hopeless fuckers..."
Are you done making babies, or can you imagine more?
About back-patting...i spent many years cultivating humility. When i thought i'd reached it, i dug for deeper levels on which i might be full of shit. Trying to never put myself above anyone. Trying to eliminate all thoughts of entitlement. Starting with the concept "Everything i know and believe is probably wrong". It was only after twenty or so years of doing that, that i'm finally acknowledging the notion of "false modesty". It can be a disservice to yourself and the world to pretend to be less than you are, so i'm starting to own the notion that maybe, just maybe, i have wisdom and understanding that stretches beyond the average person. Maybe even beyond the average intelligent person. Maybe even...
I try not to picture my life playing out. Part of my spiritual striving is to be fully present and alive in the moment. I have ideas which i pursue, but i try not to project my ego into the future. Put another way, we all spend our lives creating and maintaining our own personal mythologies...just as we may not really ever "know" another person (only our "idea" of them), you could argue that all we know about ourselves is our idea of who "we" are. And in this world of individualism gone steroidal, we all keep one eye on the "story" of our life, so we can impress others (and ourselves).
Besides, the more i can detach from my own ego, the more likely a candidate i might be for alien abduction (or rescue, hopefully).
Have you an answer to your own lifetime question? And have you ever fucked out of a sense of hopelessness? The way you asked, i suspect the answer is yes.

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