Making Love

We don't talk about making love. Oh no, not in public.

We learn about it from the movies, from the television, from the magazines. Oh! That is how its supposed to look! Aha! That is what I am supposed to do. Yes. Now I know how to do it...

Since when did there arise a definition for "making love"? Who claimed rights to this expression? When did it become an act that someone could explain or teach, made for others to replicate?

When did it become a thing to do and not an experience to embrace?

I am blessed to be in a place surrounded by brilliant, beautiful, inspiring women. (Side note: there are brilliant, beautiful, inspiring men, too, but in this case I am reflecting on an experience with women). We had the opportunity, recently, to share a bit about our relationships with love.

Today, I felt it. (I even did it). Outright and personal. Public and proud.

My bare skin plunged in deep into a pool of ice cold liquid and my mind turned off and my senses turned on. I could not hear a thing beneath the depths of the transparent pond and if there ever was a time that I was alive it was now. The water hugged me, freely, and together we moved. Where I undulated, she pushed me and where I lay, she held me up. I was alone, as a human being. I was surrounded, as a vehicle of love.  I longed for it not to cease, as I danced beneath her surface- swimming forward and twirling around. I felt beautiful. I felt free. Every inch of me smiled, and as the last bits of air left my lungs, she carried me to above.

I gasped.

And exhaled deep.

The pool water dripped from my lashes.

And I opened my eyes to a new world.

And the sounds around me vibrated louder than ever.

A bird chirping on a tree branch, in search of a worm for her nestlings. A tiny lizard, scurrying atop some dry grass. The wind, tickling the palm trees.

I saw it. And it felt so good.

Nature does it all. day. long.- Recreation. Interaction. Exchange.

Nature is it.- Nectar. Flowers. Animals.

Love is alive everywhere; all around us.

Every moment, love is made.

Everywhere, they (we) are doing it.

It is in you, too. It is your very nature.

Turn off the television. Close the magazine.

Open up to your inner love.

Dive into a pool of water.

Awaken that which makes you feel it.

And then, make love.

As a bumble-bee to a flower. As a snowflake to the tip of your tongue.

Knowing Not To Know

You cannot sleep because the howling is so loud.

It is just after 5:30am; the coldest part of the morning. The sun is hidden behind the dark mountains and the color of the sky is a mix between night and day. It is so quiet. I wrap a thin red blanket around me tightly. It is the same blanket I had on my bed in El Salvador and the feeling of going to sleep alone and waking alone amongst 4 blank walls in a foreign country is one that suits me too well.

If it weren't for the sound of the wind, I'd still be fast asleep. Now, I lay with my body bundled in the fetal position. My mind does not know that the rest of me is still at rest.

The rays of light that push through the gaps in my lace curtains tell me in a white lie that the sun has begun to crawl nearer. The path is clear and she creeps steadily up the backside of the mountains in the exact place where the windmills are turning in the near distance. You can watch intensely, but you will never catch her movement. Yet, in a matter of moments, there she is: Whole. And bright.

The warmth comes quick and strong. I love 5:40am. The contrast between coldness and heat is so vivid. Half the world is awake and half the world is still bundled up. There are certain sounds that only exist at this time of the morning and there are particular energies that vibrate with a secretive bliss.

I forgot to close the curtains last night- the pair that opens onto my balcony.

From my bed I have a clear shot of our green front lawn that is sprouted with trees of various shapes and sizes. The branches all sway together in a rhythmic trance.  My hammock dances on my balcony in front to it's own beat. I love the wind's ability to create wild harmony.

When I notice one barren tree, the energies within me change.

It is a light brown tree that bares not a single leaf and its branches are upright and rigid. It does not move. It does not falter.

A tiny yellow-breasted bird with a night-black head sits on the highest peak of the thin barren tree; a stable heaviness atop a toothpick.

The hammock flutters flagrantly in unknowing directions and the green leaves behind move side to side with the howling wind. The one light brown tree stands steady and the bird is a statue.

I do not know what it means.

But later, I will.

I have learned this about life. Sometimes things happen and we feel something so strong. We do not know clearly the why. We long to, though. And so we cling to it and think and think and think and we get nowhere, but perhaps subconsciously we are falling down a hole made for a rabbit.

I cannot always let go...

Yet, I find that often, when I do, I feel a sense of peaceful serenity.

When I spend less time trying to make sense of it all, the senses, in return, become more receptive to the things that the world needs me to see and know.

And then, silently, the bird opens her wings and sails off. And I think I see the light brown tree sway with her departure.