A few months ago I nearly died and ached with a loneliness I didn't own and therefore couldn't feel and closed in on myself. The days that followed were some of the quietest of my life. I was growing blood, thinking of plasma, trying hard not to admit to the loneliness.
I did find a version of Tom Hiddleston reading Derek Walcott's poem Love After Love. I felt the words "you will love again" pierce the rain forest I was trying to pretend wasn't in me. Have a listen, have two. Meet me on the other side.
A man appeared on my doorstep and spoke to me of a community in Costa Rica that's devoted to human sexuality and runs a love school for the last 40 years. He spoke of how our culture doesn't understand love, like, at all, and the relationships we struggle in, are sitting in a stew of misaligned thinking about love and relationships. I realized how long I'd been trying to build my love house on the sands of confused thinking.
I'd realized, in halting jerks, over decades, that I was polyamorous. Hooray! But I couldn't celebrate or feel good about it for a 1000 reasons: my life couldn't accommodate that truth, nor could my current understanding of love, also I had no role models that felt good to me, so I couldn't even imagine it well, which is super trouble land because I can only experience what I can imagine and dare to believe.
For me, "love" relationships often formerly centered around an ego parade that went something like: "tell me I'm the greatest all the time and don't feel that way about anyone else because then that'll shatter the illusion and I don't want to do the work to feel that way about myself, so, hey, let's get married."
Then my parent's marriage exploded in a pile of affairs where no one's ego got stroked and of all the feelings my family experienced during that time, love was rarely one of them. But the gift that painful time gave me is one I'm just not barely unpacking.
My gorgeous parents did love the way they thought they had to, and not the way their quiet hearts were actually calling them to. And it failed beautifully because lies take us away from the Harmony of All Existence. And there's no wins there, ever.
And as I sit in this deluge of love coming in to me I realize that this deluge feeling is like ninja training; I am learning how to love in the way that my quiet heart has been calling me towards. It's more tribal than most things I've ever experienced. It's more fun too. It's about a 1000% silliness and the rest is creating together and dancing. It's roomy and it's Rumi. It's flexible, honest, heroes dancing in moonlight together. It's open and deeply compassionate of our full human dance and it's wise about how we're always expanding and so any relationship worth its salt will always be in the courtship phase, especially the one I have with myself.
When I began to fall in love with the parts of myself that I had formerly rejected, I began to court my total self and my heart broke all the fucking way open. And I began to be a match for a style of loving that I honestly can scarcely conceive of because my mind can only tell me stuff I've done before and love is carrying me to those brand new shores where I get to perpetually court the spark inside of Life itself.