It's 9 PM here in the Historic District. I'm not on my blue Marilyn Monroe Couch (as so many posts began), of course I lost that in a fire. I'm on an Art Deco chaise lounge across from my boyfriend. I'm drinking pedestrian pinot grigio and thinking about the past.
You see, so little is really going on in my life these days that I am often left thinking about the nights that came before. All of those wild, lusty, debauched nights and mornings at The Lounge, graceless hookups with boys (and girls) I can't remember. Multiple overdoses and the dream cloud-dream child world of too much of everything except for sense. Those times made for good writing. I have a chest full of those nights that I still haven't mentioned yet. I'll tell you about them soon enough.
Tonight, though, I am thinking about the oddities of the human heart and mind. I'm in a lovely relationship, but sometimes I want its' polar opposite-be it two druggies on a stained mattress somewhere, or me running away with a cowboy to live on love and little else. I can nearly see the sun on his flaxen jaw, the coarse stubble there that surely pleases the metaphysical "me," who writes about impossibilities.
That same twisted, unsteady human heart lead me to reach out to a boy the other night. Not in a sexual way, not even in a physical way. I came across his posting on Craigslist (while I was looking for garden furniture). He wrote that he was unsure of his sexuality, that he had been abused and was uncertain if he could change his disposition, or if he would want to, and that he felt very afraid. He was all of 19 years old.
I am not really the type to try to save the world, but sometimes everyone can heal a heart. I wrote him a long letter, to which (two weeks later) he still has not replied. And that's OK. In this missive to an anonymous boy, I told him about the Two Spirit Men of the early Americans. I told him about magic and of healing, about the great beauty that lies in each man's soul. I implored him to give his life time to develop, to not be harsh with himself, to not be hasty with life.
I hope he read my words, because I read his. I read his that were soaked in sadness and in pain. His words that floated in fear. I hope my more buoyant words lifted him, changed him-let him know that everything will, of course-be just fine.
That's a lot to expect from a letter, but I received a similar one when I was his age. And it did just that.
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E-Tools, Lobotomizers and Stupid Jarhead Myths
2 hours ago
This is so the you I know and love. Bless you for the grace you showed this struggling stranger. And I'd be willing to bet my All-Clad that you got no response because that would have ruined it. Instead, I'm sure the stranger absorbed your kindness in his heart, steeped his mind in your wisdom, and nodded thankfully.
ReplyDeleteAs for this: "Tonight, though, I am thinking about the oddities of the human heart and mind," I urge you to pop over to Boozy Tooth and see what you can make of my most recent oddity... "What Else is new." It's a doozy, man!
Love you, CG
Thanks Alix, that's a really beautiful thought-about him not having replied because it would have ruined it. I like that a lot. I love the idea of a sort of anonymous grace. I love you.
ReplyDeleteI'm off to check out your post.
Hiya Jeremy: X
ReplyDeleteI think you should probably write a letter to the world... a book, a novella, something. Give the calm, empty days value and take advantage of them. Sometimes we need a break from living, a time of quiet to reflect on it and try to work out what it is and who we are within it. To be wild all the time makes for doing nothing at all anyway, as living becomes monotonous and repetitive and that's when pleasures dull and are no longer what they once were. It's like fucking - we're never as passionate and hungry for lust as when we've been starved of it for a while... When we've been thinking of it and reliving past pleasures in times of leanness. But to always have it is pretty much the same as never having had it at all.
Also, I think sometimes life can be wild in our minds and ideas, and that can be enough. So if there's little or nothing going on in your life right now it's kinda balanced out by what is going on in your head (or hopefully it is). It's why I began this note by saying write a Letter to the World, because maybe you wrote your letter to this Anonymous boy because you needed something too... something to do, to care for, something to give away, offer up or just to say. And if you feel you've got nothing to write a book about, write about that anonymous boy and fill in both your blanks while doing so.
Hope You're well, Chef
Love and Thoughts, Shane. X
Shane,
ReplyDeleteThank you for your beautiful words. You're so right about giving the calm days value, and giving something back to the world. I am doing just that.
You're right about sex, too, of course: a little starvation makes the feast so much more filling. And a little gratitude goes a long way.
I think all of us that write are always penning letters to the world, some more important than others. It's a priviledge to be able to do so, and to read others' "letters."
You are so insightful and it's a joy, as always, to come across you here on the internet. Thanks, Shane!
I am well, and hoping you are also.
All Hopes and Love
J