love is . . .

After all these years celibate immune from attempting to define or heal myself by the agency of a woman's body or love of any kind save being confidants. Of which, or about, I could say many things yet their confidence and mine, confessional, sacred to me remaining embossed on the prayer wheel of myself--mindfulness--Buddhist--in the closet sense

. . . .though i do adorn my wrist with rudraksha sherpa coral & Bodhi Seeds mala. . . .in homage: the Tibetans who self immolate in protest the rape of their spirituality, country and people; especially Tibetan Buddhist nuns. By the Chinese about who/which The Dahl Lama said simply; "Bad Karma."

Never say Never -- since -- Nothing is for Naught; meaning -- in an extremely simple sense -- go with the flow. 

We mate out of season for the pleasure of it never realizing the importance of love. An intimacy between men and women regardless of age is not defined by sexual penetration or all the variants of. Instead it is congress of persons equal in value to one another exclusive of sexual gratification called pleasurable. 

What happens in the five to seven minutes of orgasm has lasting implications, or cause/effect, deadly or covenantal consequent the birth of child/children resulting and an obligation/responsibility for from eighteen years to the time date and death of the mother. Most men abandon both without recourse or resource.  I tried but failed; going back to walk the final fatal mile with my son and his mother. 

We as a nation are bemusing to the rest of the world; our puritan heritage skewed. 
Well. 
Actually. 
The world is amused by our modesty since it renders us ridiculous. 

Of sex between same gender it is a poor impoverished condemnation of what implies neither rape nor consequential children. Of which we have already too many dying daily of neglect -- even among those who sired them. 

In those I know and know well intimately I know their love as profoundly sincere as any i've found within or without the covenant of marriage. 

Think of men at war. In general they fight for the life of one another. 

Of women to the same depths of knowing by me; in general they have been abused by a male. Women are by nature and nurture more gentle than savage. 

Men, like myself, take decades to advance, or age by experience, to an point/action/behavior of emotional sobriety, maturity or simply the 'age of majority.' Taking full responsibility for all parameters of participating in a relationship that ideally, for me and many others, becomes friendship. To me "Friendship" meant: never getting laid. But laying a friend who is true . . . Women love deeply and seldom Men fleetingly and often . . . has inherently: light years and orders of magnitude greater joy than mere pleasure. Something like 1/60th of a second compared to infinity. Or is endless orgasm as joy; a joy? and if that is it applicable to everything we do?
of course it is, happiness to me!

My sense, not exclusive to me, is that true love accepts the person loved as they wish to be; leaving only when the love between us smothers the life out of each -- or -- one or the other. And for me love is not a noun but a verb given/giving without conditions of reciprocity endowing the beloved complete freedom to dance together or distantly apart by galaxies. . . . after though grief is like wealth that's all you got . . . stand up, move forward, participate: live.

I have a sense of urgency since, I would if I could, lend you some sense; gleaned from all my failures, hypocrisies and bigotries. Remorse? No. It is a mode of celebration. A knowing myself truly joyful and fully blest by the The Great Spirit Wind wh0 in manic laugher used to blow me about a bit of fluffy feather down.

The measure of this person who writes these words is not the words themselves but behavior; deeds and intentions in crisis. And nothing is ever lost to, or in, what we call 'god.' To whom I give all that I am or will ever be in love and gratitude that I have a heart beat . . . having been beaten mere clay an infant to a sword of a man become now a plow shear finding fertile grown into which I plant the seeds of Love.

. . . i, for the nonce, still can you know; the doctor and solo practice tells me so 2 wish i might wish i had made more love than anxiety in a tutu dancing in the night winds of lust or love either way works for me . . . the best part of us is between our ears extending downward to beneath the breast bone: our soul: always virginal without gender angelic

"When we love properly, we expand our love for (one to) a few to compassion for all. This love can help all beings to live with happiness and freedom, and it is anything but small and powerless–it is the reason for our existence!" –A Buddhist Master’s Wisdom

120831 05:58 celibate
© 2012 by Jack Spratt All Rights Reserved