The purity of beauty – when we’ve been told it’s just conditioning and hormones – plagues me as I sit on a Friday alone.
This lunar beauty
Has no history
Is complete and early
If beauty later bear any feature
It had a lover and is another*
And another is whirling round my thoughts in intense obscurity. She is available and beautiful but there’s a snag, a holding back and perhaps this was the way it was meant to be, before the big fall and the headlong rush and the ‘How stupid of me not to relax and see, to let as easy as a stream wash over me and relax in that again, l instead I hold against the rising tide.’
There’s love there for sure but there seems to be a direction poised elsewhere, which is hilarious because she lives round the corner and I’m not planning to move soon.
She is alive and humorous and deep and like a wailing teenager I resist. Keep telling myself I won’t do better, but I am not sure that is the point.
Keep telling myself too, ad nauseam, that my wishing is for a story I have imagined and can’t face the reality of a true dame, a deep woman who seems quite ready to dive in with this quiet man. The antagonism of dread and bravado and there isn’t anything I can see in between (the resting softly softly, he can’t feel or understand).
Though these things are not true. A course, however plotted, must be kept and if you cave in, Arjuna, and take a hand out of self-esteem collapse, would you be anything to her then?
Better take your decisions in your own time, in your own way and if she walks away, at least you’ll have your integrity.
The last sentence makes me puke. The future keep crashing in, and there’s nothing I can do.
Sam Baker’s been singing about the sight of his woman undressing at the top of the stairs, and my, if he hasn’t made a religion of a woman becoming naked. It is glorious the way he sings, so simply, about this act and how the man can do nothing but become “Sweetly Undone”. I heard the record on this episode of Late Junction – available here (42 mins through) for another few days, and not available free elsewhere with any quality.
The explaining away of attraction lends it a discolour. I don’t wish to know about hormones and conditioned reflexes when a dame decides to denude herself in front of me – I should honour. The Godess has bestowed her fruits one more merciful time, and I should only be grateful and brought to the edge of undoing, as Sam sings, himself almost breaking.
There’s no psychology behind that, there’s no science with that. It is pure experience and a much desired one. Don’t taint me with facts. I’ve got kissing to do…
but I don’t it’s Friday and Karen is whirling my head with her absence. I would love her, if I didn’t need to disown myself.