Sunday, April 20, 2008

yearning ...

I sit in my sterile cubicle, fingers tap tap tapping on the keys, sunlight spilling across my shoulders, its golden embrace an illusion of warmth and a harbinger of a spring which refuses to commit.

I am restless, unable to concentrate, my mood capricious, discontented, despair trembling on the edge of a precipice of want. My voice is silent but trembles beneath the garrotte of my throat, aching to explode in a shower of words, sharp shards of explanation and self justification that sting and cut arbitrarily and without intent. I feel if I allowed this stranglehold to ease, and vomit out a stream of thoughts that it would be as if in another language …. for I myself hardly know what ails me. Does everyone spend so much time in self-examination … in figuring out your own motivations? Or am I supremely self-indulgent?

Yet I remain obsessed with the examination of motive and want, desire and need … and comfort myself in the knowledge that how I choose (or do not choose) to use this space is my decision and mine only.

So many thoughts tumbling and roiling in the caldron of my confused mind. Lately, I have seen my thoughts in terms of equilibrium – a scale… and feathery light touches can disturb the balance and tumble me into the pits of despair and resignation. Sensation…. craving, wanting, needing, internalizing until my skin ripples and concentric curves of feeling flood within my writhing body. Almost obsessively, I ponder the reality of my masochism, need and desire.

How complicated we human beings are!

How our minds and emotions cloud and distort the simplicity of simply being. I think that is why I get such immense joy from the simplicity of cycling – when the reality of sweat and the swish of pedal, the wind against my face, licking along the trailing curtain of hair, tangling in its curls and tugging deliciously at my scalp beneath the restrictive helmet, the burn along the inner thigh as I gear down and push against gravity to ascend a hill, the freedom of flight as I sweep down the other side …

Focus. Something I often feel I lack. Something I seek compulsively, knowing in my heart that my discordant inner turmoil and capricious wants cause dissension and imbalance. I think that is why I seek the peaceful nothingness of exercise, the sweet dream of yoga where by the end of the class, the ache and pull of muscle and sinew, the burning determination of holding a pose, the deliciousness of simply concentrating on the now, give me such inner contentment – for the moment, for the second.

I think that is all any of us can aspire to – that momentary cessation of time, the fleeting comfort of simply being. I think in our restless, drive need for constant stimulation, we forget the peace and joy that can be found in simply opening ourselves to a universe which embraces and accepts and in reality, never judges nor expects but simply is.

Yet, conversely, it is precisely our complicated psyches that make us such a quixotic, fascinating animal; that make the reality of our lusts and wants and needs so much more than simply instinct.

While we embrace the savagery of nature and find in its unforgiving elemental force, an unanticipated thrill which engenders a lust and want that defies our Christian-taught decorum, it is conversely, the complicated highways of mind and soul that elicit the greatest satisfaction; where sadism can truly be exercised in all its twisted delight and masochism be embraced.

My own worst enemy, I am immensely self-critical – I descry my lack of perfection in face and form and lament my moody intensity. I have said to him, he needs, deserves, should have someone far less like work than I, inwardly dying at the thought of someone else in his control.

Sometimes I simply want to be a creature of simplistic desires, hot, smooth skin and warm, damp folds and the feel of him above me, behind me, his teeth fastened in my shoulder, the hot slippery warmth of him between my thighs, bucking and thrusting and taking and demanding and myself, an inferno of wet heat, aching breasts and the feel of his teeth in my neck creating a wave of elemental need that sweeps us both away in a tsunami of wet want …I want to be forced, compelled and mastered …

Sometimes, sometimes I just want to shut my brain off and simply be.

1 comment:

Buffalo said...

Shutting of the mind would be death. Our thoughts, even those that trouble, give us life. Without them we would exist, not live.