Kiss wisely and openly

I started my morning stepping into clarity of vision -- of the mountains across the valley.   My to-do-list seemed to stretch to those mountains.  My time in the desert resulted in a lot of thinking and no writing, as usual.  The energy there is entrancing: emerged stillness.   The work always happens upon the return.   The crystal mountain view and warm sunny day was a gift as I took my laptop outside to buckle down and get to work.  (This blog is my reward late in the evening).

 

The longest essay I have ever written.   In December, it was 2000-words.   Today, I broke below the 500-word limit.  Two months for 500 words about my writing and myself.     

 

Now I can go back to my musing, to the desert, just me, the stars, and the hot swirling water around my pale, luminous skin.   There is nothing I need to do to let the mind go as the desert air breathes me.  I think of the heart breaking, as Caroline Myss says, not in half, but wide-open.  

 

Listening to the wind, I remember times when my heart seemed to break in two.   "He will always come back, and you will always think you did something wrong, but you cannot make it work."  Committing to make relationships work.   In our very language, I see how that never works, the misplaced emphasis.   Commitment is not about working or forcing, but being fully in what you commit to; being the relationship, job, city, whatever it is, fully with joy, love, trust and faith.   I commit to not making a relationship fit my needs, but allowing relationships to be.

 

Seeing the infinite blackness of night and brightness of stars, I follow my heart to ponder needs. Who takes care of that?  I needed to finish this essay, and I did.   But even that was not a need, but a choice. Focusing on needs makes us seem limited.  Perhaps needs feed our fears.  "I need you close because I fear losing you.  I need your attention because I fear your love will not last.  I need your love because I fear being alone."  Sometimes, our need for another masks our fear of ourselves.   The best thing we can do for that person is to leave them to face their fear and overcome it.   As Rumi writes, "Don't keep complaining about loneliness!  Let the fear-language of that theme crack open and float away."  

 

Like our hearts breaking wide-open to love others without fear, without need to possess or control, without judgment of others' needs.  

 

I lift my body out of the warm water.  The cold desert air kisses my skin, reminding me of all that is beyond words, and that even just a kiss is like a love letter which produces  "a transformation in the other person, and . . . within you" and may take your whole life to write  (Thich Nhat Hanh).   The joy, the living, the love, the wisdom are in the act of writing the love letter, no matter the form.  

 

As the minutes bring our day that supposedly celebrates love, kiss wisely and openly, without need, because muscles have memory.