There may be a day some time in the future when I no longer care about you. The familiar feeling of your embrace would be like a memory of a good book I’ve read, or a movie I’ve seen. Like a memory of my hand in David’s in the Azalea Garden, in June of 2007. So what if I remember the month and year, I am good with calendars, that’s all. It might have been May, too. When do the azaleas bloom? It was a Tuesday.
About you, I’ll remember there were Mondays.
Some unimaginable day in the future, our paths might separate: perhaps, I’ll move to another town, or to a different part of this town, or you will. Or, nobody moves, but we still might become strangers.
We’ve already been strangers, a few months ago, for a few months. You wore glasses on the Monday when we became strangers; you looked handsome. There wasn’t enough time for me to stop caring about you back then. There was enough time for me to find the ground though, a small patch of it.
Now, on a Monday, here we are, cuddled on a couch watching a haunting animated movie. My arm is wrapped around a lovely woman, your arms are around me. The woman is (likely) your your ex-girlfriend, a couple of exes before; you might have told me so, I forgot.
Earlier that day I went to G’s class and, out of the blue, he had us students stand around in circle, arms around our two neighbors, moving like that for a while. I felt violated; told Doug afterwards that I didn’t care to be touched by more than one person at once. Being embraced by the two of you is quite nice actually. Come to think of it, that was a lot of non-tango embraces for a Monday.
Jason said, words take us a step away from experiences. Words are symbols. Symbols take us one step away from what they stand for.
Take us one step away, take us one step closer.
I’ve heard, we experience love, so we can practice universal love. This sounds pretentious; it isn’t, just cryptic.
One unimaginable day in the future, I might even decide I never cared about you, only about myself. To what extent do I?
On Tuesday, when Leila invites us to to set an intention, I set mine to love you. And then again on Wednesday. Foolishly, the fear whispers.
On Saturday, Estee, full of sadness about the ills of the world, leads a heart opening class. In the penultimate Urdhva Dhanurasana, my heart opens a crack, for the first time. Maybe for you.
Or, there may be a day when I no longer care about you.
Maybe, maybe not.
Doesn’t matter. I’ve heard (paraphrasing Bhagavad Gita, 2.47, have yet to read that), we are entitled to our labor, but not to the fruits of our labor. This is practice.