I feel that I have no regrets in my living. I've always done the best I could with what I had in the moment. Then, in one night, I have two dreams. Both about men I have loved. Men who, for a while, loved me. And in both dreams they each turn to me and say: I still think of you, I've never forgotten you, I hold onto to the memory of you, no matter who I'm with, I always think of you, I remember surrender, and I remember you.
And I wake with the dreams alive inside of me. Doesn't matter that I believe that this is not about them actually remembering me, but in fact my emotional programming reminding me that these men are still alive inside of me, as unprocessed experience.
What I experience is that all day long, in the middle of my form filling and dealing with desperate folks, I see these two men that I loved, that loved me.
I see them in my mind's eye, and it's as if I am transported back in time. I see their eyes, looking into mine.
I see his liquid chocolate eyes, how he would say things of profound love and surrender with such practicality, a simple stating of fact.
I saw his desert brown eyes, the sharp clear alertness, looking straight into me, all the way down to the bedrock, how his looking revealed that yes, I saw into him too, because he let me, because he loved me, because he understood.
I saw such love, and it was painful, painful to feel the love again across the span of time, so immediate and Now.
I loved them. I still love them. I have always loved them. I always will.
How strange that I should come to understand that. That once we love, it connects us in. Forever connected. It's true that love never dies.
But so strange to have it be alive again. To not just remember but have it be alive and Now.
But I've let go of love. Of men.
Maybe Life will laugh in my wrinkly, puffy, sad, frowning face and demand one more round.
But I doubt it.
And again tonight, Ben Harper is my champion: