Vegetarian Lovers

Pacifica was intense and beautiful and I left with much to think about. But there’s really only one thing I want to write about it. All during the second day I kept thinking, Now I am walking in the New World. It really is a new world, and this school is one more facet of my devotion to learning how to move here, as myself here. And the shower of blessings continues, every step I take into the unknown is a confirmation that I can trust this process. When I take that step of confident doubt into pure space, when I step from my heart, I am always being led into love. Last week was a step into the source. Last night was making a space for that source to flow all ways.

Yesterday afternoon, I had a long talk with a new friend that wove many of my threads together: having been put back in my body; my sensitivity to Eros; Amy’s and my experiences last week with touch being such a healing, integral part of communication; trying to integrate that sense into my daily life back home; wondering how that touch-sense will integrate into therapy work; and how all the emotions coming up in me the last few days at school expressed themselves in a great need for touch. Two nights ago during class I was sinking into a pretty sad detached place, and a brief encounter with a lovely man, the other strong connection I made during this first school session, brought me right back into my Self. After that brief encounter, I found myself really wishing he would just hug and hug me. The direct image was wanting to crawl into bed with him and have his arms around me — just visceral, sudden, unexpected. I acknowledged it but was so tired, and sick in my throat, so I scooted off to meditate and sleep.

When he and I ran into each other again yesterday afternoon, I gave him a big hug and thanked him for just his presence and attention having so cheered me the previous night. Let’s call him Chippy, the name our mutual friend gave him. He also lives in southern California, and when school ended at 4:30 neither of us was in a rush to sit in traffic for hours and hours getting through LA. And both of us were feeling this intense connection, flashes of which we’d felt the previous night, so we decided to meet in town for coffee.

Coffee turned into a walk to the beach — Carpinteria has tiny little mini-dunes, and the evening felt like a mini-exploration of what I learned with Amy in the giant dunes, and of honesty, and of how attraction is handled in the New World. I so strongly felt Amy there with me, so many different loves weaving into this particular blossoming love. I wasn’t sure whether Chippy’s attraction to me was of the old or new flavor, and he was very thrown by the “polyamory” word. But he Belongs — as Amy said in the car last week, anyone who belongs with us must Belong. We had the most wonderful talk on the beach there, at sunset. Talking very openly about the attraction between us and disengaging old patterns and not acting from desire — he was so thrown by the polyamory word because he sensed immediately how it tosses all those old patterns out the window, how directly it invokes the new world. Watching the sun set as he gave voice to his old pain and old patterns, I felt his and my old wounds gently setting too, sinking gratefully into oblivion. The moonlight sparkled on the calm waters and he said it looked like slow rolling mercury.

We didn’t touch at all there on the beach. We sat and moved our hands in the sand and felt the electricity between us and talked. At one point he said, with deep realization, “You’re making love to me right now.” Which was true. But what man feels that, and understands it, and says it, and can let it be? Amazing. Full of light.

So then we had a lovely leisurely thai dinner in a fancy wooden booth. Walking to the restaurant, we talked at length about letting go of want and refraining from acting from that needy desiring place. I opened the menu and read aloud, “Vegetarian Lovers.” Perfect metaphor. We talked more about school and therapy and our stories and how wyrd that we stumbled into such a connection, that we are already walking in the new world. He said he felt really good being “emotionally responsible,” i.e. not needing more touch from me than our knees gently resting together, yet able to speak and look and listen intimately. I felt really good being so seen and appreciated and respected even when I got uncertain and vulnerable, and just as much when I was strong and direct and “ass-kicking,” as he put it. There was one moment in class Tuesday where I gave an interpretation of some dream-material and Rosetta spoke through me — it was so clean and clear and perfect that it stopped even the professor in his tracks (“very good! very good!”), and Chippy understood what was happening there, and wanted to ask me about that voice, he had such respect for her. He said that voice, that attunement, paralyzed him with its accuracy and made him a bit envious of my facility with that language, and gave him permission to go there in himself. I so look forward to going there together. I so miss that caliber of conversation, itself like lightning.

It was responsible. Both response-able and responsible to the fact that our connection was purer than the sexual desire it evoked, and served a higher purpose in that we’ll be learning with each other for the next two years, at least once a month. Respectful of how much we both need that learning space. It felt really good to sit and acknowledge the eros like lightning between us, and let its energy fill us and dance us and move everything in our sphere without needing to pin it down into romance or genitals or even kissing. Experimental for us both. Sitting at our table, I understood that the sudden visceral desire I felt for him the previous night was an expression of this moment, like a prescient waking dream. As if in response, he spoke directly out of one of my dreams last week — Looking at me and saying “Go Team,” an Englishman saying it to me instead of the dream’s English teacher, who praised my femininity in the same way as that English teacher so long ago, and our delicate work with Eros in the New World being the dream’s “work on the agricultural problem, the key to which is the underground water.” That, in my dream, the work takes place in a renegade youth group echoes the fact that we are school-mates in this alternative soul-tending program, but also that the love between us exists within polyamory. I’m certain that my dream spoke about him and the work he and I will continue to do.

We took each others hands and expressed that we must be each other’s Helper — his word — that on our first session we should be given such a gift of each other’s friendship, a foundation of such promise, because we are capable of serving the higher self in each other and anchoring the other in this new world when school gets crazy, as we know it will. He said that he may come to school sessions in any number of configurations of himself — “I’m not a whole ego yet” — and how deliciously honest, and how much this is the case for me too! — but he promised that when he’s able, he will hold this space for me with all his heart. How utterly lovely. I felt so held — exactly like I needed the night before — but in a higher, deeper, freer way than I ever would have thought possible, especially having known each other for all of two days. When we finally actually hugged, it was so full of love, gracefully tender. After more than five hours of this chaste intimate talking/being, we said goodbye — in the middle of the street he turned and bowed to me, and I bowed back to him.

Mmmm.

Last night I dreamed: I’m sitting with Davonne (Rina’s mom), talking about how worried we are about Rina. Somewhere below, I get one of Rina’s scarves (just like Amy’s green scarf) and tie it hanging somewhere — a sign, art, some more practical reason? Regardless of my motive, Rina is perturbed at me for touching her scarf — her stuff — and starts to take it back down. The word “tryst” arises, and a bell in me rings: that’s twice today I’ve heard the word “tryst!” I have to look it up. Back up with Davonne, she encouragingly hands me a dictionary from below her somewhere, at her feet, but it’s actually one of those word almanacs that groups words together but doesn’t actually define them.

There are lots of tributaries flowing here. One is an echo of a friend’s old dream, in which she gave me beautiful scarves and was perturbed that I began to share them with other women, only upon waking to realize what a beautiful gesture that sharing is. Another is the first time I heard the word tryst yesterday, which was in waking life: Chippy had earlier called me an orchid, very sweetly, and then shared a story that “a tryst with an orchid in her own right” had given him the courage to step into his new life/self. The dream weaves multiple threads, weaves feelings of multiple partners and issues that arise around sharing Love’s beauty.

“Tryst” means: 1325, ME: “An appointment to meet at a certain time or place, especially one made somewhat secretly by lovers.” “Tryst” alludes to the fact that relationships unfold of their own time and rhythm — to the power and meaning of the timing of the tryst Chippy told me about, to the power and meaning of the timing of our own meeting, which really does feel like meeting at an agreed-upon time and place, an unfolding because we were ready and had done our work individually to bring us to this shared secret loving place. “Tryst” is also “trust,” the crucial element to holding such a space, and to sharing it — sharing it between us two, and sharing it with other lovers — like I share it with Amy, like all our previous lovers are carried in our hearts into that space with us. That space can feel like a boat, a warm safe cozy place to ride the ocean’s currents, and in a recent revelation I noted that “boats=trust.”

I was surprised to learn that “tryst” is “akin to ME trist, confidence (OE *tryst).” Confidence is a word that came up a lot during the school session, a word I planned to do an entry on anyway. Confidence = confide-ence, that trusting honesty. c.1430, from L. confidentia, from confidentem, prp. of confidere, from com- intens. prefix + fidere “to trust” (see faith). Beautiful. In August I had a dream that was a teaching about stepping into the new world from a place of confident doubt — a place of perfectly balanced faith and curiosity. I am profoundly blessed to be taking such steps, waking-dreaming now, with such sweet, loving friends.

Trust and Confidence are Tryst’s saving grace, its inherent promise that in the New World such meetings don’t need secrecy’s protection. Tryst/trust/confidence ground the dream — my nighttime dream, and Chippy’s and my shared waking dream — in the understanding that we are walking in the new world. That we are known to the new world, and it works us, it plays us, it tends us, it bears us and bares us and blossoms us — as long as we walk it in confidence and trust, free as lovers.

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~ by Arrrow Marie on September 24, 2009.

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