Every day for the past couple of months I’ve been getting daily emails from a variety of personals websites, such as Match, American Singles, Kiss, Lavalamp, and Yahoo, all showing me my matches for me to contact. I think I’ve only emailed two or three (can’t remember) and none have emailed me back. Two or three have emailed me, only to be given a somewhat stoic email in return (I do not hide the fact that I work in a strip club and that I am content, at the moment, to ride a bus and walk and bike, and I get this out of the way before we go further). They have not written back.
But still I scan the emails, more out of curiosity than anything. Much like when I occaisionally (If I happen to be on the page) read the astrology section. It struck me, tonight while browsing the ads sent to me, that I wasn’t really looking for a person when I read the emails, but I was looking for myself. Always looking for reflections of one’s self in the reflected surface of another’s eyes. I do not deny that I continue to look for a reflection of myself in other, but I do not anticipate that reflection as I once did, I do not put images where there are none…. at least not to the amount that I did before. Understanding my own motives and shortcomings, developing a sense of my own self and being content in my own reflection within my my own heart (instead of having to see it in others directed back at me for it to be real) has opened a veil from between myself and the varied behaviors of others. One girl’s interest in me lately is seen quite clearly as a mixture of politics and complete inability to rest within her own identity. Another’s is a grappling hook to claw her way out of the quagmire of meaningless activities around her (thinking that I am some magic potion to bring meaning to her existence?). Another’s is a need to affirm self-esteem, coupled with perhaps a dose of job security. Who knows truly what moves within the hearts of others.
Was this a reason why I was so content with myself, a contentment that had been unknown for ten years prior? That the questioning of myself, the ever striving for a better self, has shown to me my own best self, even if rarely obtained? That I should have more meaningful contact with my inner self than with other people? That sounds like a forgone conclusion, “of course you’d have more meaningful contact with your Self than with others” but as simple as it sounds, I realize that thus was not always the case with me. Even now the contact is not as common as might seem… deep contact with my Self is much more than simply thinking of motives and behaviors. Again, I am reminded of my thoughts previously, of intent. Is this the manner of getting beyond the crippling rationalization and justifications of our behavior and thoughts? Thoughts too can be justified, wrongly so, and I am aware of my own many falsehoods in this regards. If I had to name one legacy of the eight years of off and on neo-pagan oriented spirituality, it would be that of the importance of thoughts. In my beginning days I paid extra attention to my thoughts, with firm belief that a thought of a slap in someone’s face was just as guilty as a physical slapping. And it can be argued about whether one is as bad as another, or worse, that perhaps the thought isn’t as bad because one actually didn’t do it. But there are many reasons of not letting go of a passion and not all of them deal with restraint or saint-hood. More truthfully it could be fear of physical reprisal, or political altercations (there is politics in our relations). But the intent is there, the sincere desire is there and in the deepest chambers of the heart there is no difference.
I have on my “do-be-want” list on my Mission Statement page an item of “having a great romance”. Indeed. I still want such, but the nature of my hopes shift and the writings and longings of a heart staring out over the dark waters of hammerhead shark infested waters of Kaneohe Bay, Hawaii seem utterly alien to me. I was perpetually lonely, always seeking another person, always longing and sighing and deeply wanting for someone else to come in and fill a void in my life. But what void is there now? There is none, for I’ve loved and lost and given of my self and have grown, have been beaten down, have risen up from near suicide… only to hold on to one stubborn voice of “keep on”. What are the important things for me, what is it that defines who I am? This is why I consider myself an existentialist, and yet why I, typical of existentialist, defy the definition as being complete. Philosophy is meaningless unless it contains something for the self entering within it. Truths are only half-truths unless it is a truth by which, as Kierkegaard put it, one can “live and die”. That one sentiment has seemed clear, puzzling, sublime, foggy, confusing, and enlightening since I’ve first read it. And this is because the statement itself, which is a self-defining statement, is an active statement drawing the person into it. It is not the same as saying that 2 + 2 = 4, but that saying that X + f(experience) = self. The formula is inadequate and so a debate on its merits is not the point, but the fact that there is a function of something, and that something is not a passive event.
I would like a great and deep romance, but I am truly and fully not in need of one. I have within me the foundation for a happy life and a contentment with my self that I am greatly thankful for. It is ironic that should I indeed enter a romance with another that if I can keep my integrity of my heart, and if the the person of whom I am attracted to is of like, then indeed what a truly great romance it will be. And there is no shame or fault in having the fond hopes for such a thing as this. I believe that in such a light the longing of the heart would not be to fill an empty void, but a truer form of companionship. Something that doesn’t hinder deep contact with the self, but is yet another of countless avenues of such contact.