“Creativity grows from Broken Places” – Julie Bernstein
“What is the cure for unrequited love?” she asked me, supposedly for a friend.
I sat with this question for a morning, then through the day, and perhaps it was another day before I responded at any length – on FaceBook no doubt. Having not thought too much about applying my most recent life lessons to a relationship issue for a while, it was a prompt that I welcomed. It got me thinking, feeling back into the recesses of experience for a juicy nugget of wisdom for a weary heart:
“The only way out/over is through. Through the sea of emotion to the truth of what lies beneath, to that greater pain walled up in the heart, to the memories that lie embedded there from a time earlier than the current heartbreak. Feel into that space and ask it what it has to say, what it’s afraid of, what it really wants. Listen to it. Voice it. Hear it. And breathe into it.
“Keep listening; there’s wisdom there. Wisdom about how to heal; how to love yourself more than ever before; how to radically accept everything that’s happening now – and to take 100% responsibility for your role. How did you create that? Pay attention. Your medicine is always right in front of you. Stay open and be in the flow of what arises in your experience.
“Honor your emotions and drop the stories. Drop the stories. Speak the undeniable truth. Again, drop the stories. Clear the path to your heart. Cultivate that space with radical self acceptance and relax your self-critical mind…
“It’s a practice.”
A friend of mine was telling me her fresh love stories recently on a rainy morning hike.
“…Oh, and then there was naked shower time,” she said, gleefully.
“Whoa. I forgot all about the shower scenes,” I said, smiling back at her and splashing back through my memory bank and finding empty records for the past 5 years. “Thanks for reminding me about that. I’m going to put an order into the universe, for SOON.”
Him: “I want my next newsletter from you to include a picture of you in heels. Is that too much to ask?”
She: ”What kind?”
Him: “Those.”
She: ”My favorite. Though, I’d prefer fuchsia suede. You buying? I’m a size 7.”
Him: “I’ll see what I can do. [...] I don’t think Boulder could handle those.”
She: “How about these? I’ve always loved the red leather soles. PS. I love that we’re bonding over impractical shoes.”
Him: “It’s gonna be hard to find those in black in a 37.5.”
{sleep happens. morning comes.}
She: “I had a dream about the red soled shoes…”
Him: “I found a pair in Vegas. Of course they’d be in Vegas.”
I love the way you looked for the full-bellied moon as we walked out from Upstairs after enjoying a beautiful bowl of soup and good company. I love that you knew my dear artist friends and a bit about me. I loved that I thought you’d been planning this meet-cute all along, as if you’d been admiring me at work as you walked past since November. I love that I remember seeing you at the concert at the end of October, and that we were pretty much standing next to each other then. I loved as much as I loathed that you were a scorpio. I love the way you played with ideas and threads of history and laughs, and the way you looked at me as if surprised and curious when I talked openly and freely. I loved your passion for the craftsmanship of artisans and your plan to support the creative arts. I loved your nose for terroir and your astute lush tastes, for laughing about my fermenting comment, and for those hours with me, leaving me delighted after a yuk day at work. I loved the way you took off your hat. I loved running my hands through your hair – and the sweetness of your kisses. I loved your sensitivity, your guarded shattered heart, your comments throughout the movie, the story about the blackbirds on the beach, the way you called the movie “cerebral romantic” when Netflix just called it “cerebral.” I love that you knew I liked chocolate – that you enjoyed my friends – that you could dance as well as me – and that you had an amazing music collection. I love that you called me love as you gave me a sweaty hug after the spontaneous kitchen dance party, and wished me – the ‘beautiful girl’ – a good night. It was wonderful to see you too. Thank you for those moments, for the joy and the laughs, and the way you alivened within me my deep love and appreciation of scarves, europe-things, heady movies, making out on the couch, snuggling, buddhism – wallace stevens – and my favorite bits of academia, the celebration of creative genius at work, simplicity, the sensuous, feline companions and savoring the present. Thank you for alivening that in me. I’m listening.
OH: “Dude, you’re throwing off my algorithm.”
Did I ever tell you about the one that planned a picnic lunch for me and then proceeded to confess that he really wasn’t interested in me at all? #goodstory #HappyNewYear
From the moment she first met him on the eve of the new moon in Virgo, his intensity and energy shot up her spine and illuminated her soul like something cosmic exploded deep within her. In all her 31 years, past tales of unrequited love and stories of love-gone-wrong, she had never been so moved by a first meeting. She instantly knew he was a Scorpio and wanted to surf in his depths. It was there that a crush the size of the unexplored universe was born. When he asked what she was doing for New Year’s Eve 2011 and told her about the Black +/- White Ball at BMoCA, she wondered if she was a fool to think that he wanted to be next to her on NYE. She wanted that more than anything. Luckily, her closet was full of little black dresses and she had white-hot-passion the match as she went in search of a midnight kiss.
She found herself supported by the back of the butterfly chair on her patio, with a beautiful beau in the seat next to her, as the glow from the lights inside provided a backlight, and the stereo sounded out the soundtrack. She’d just met him and was mesmerized for the first time in years, decades. Easing into the evening air, they mused about ideals and preferences and moments that moved them, sharing vignettes and stories and facets of character.
As she mentioned the books she wanted to pen, he asked, “Where do you write best? What do you want to look out at and see as your plotting the next bold move in the storyline?”
Her gaze followed his words past the final sound, through the echoes of reverberation in the air after the question mark landed. She looked at him, averted her gaze inward, as mountainous scenes filled her mind with glistening lakes and maybe the crashing ocean tides. But her ear caught the line of the soundtrack through the screen door, as the Kings of Leon sang so strongly, vulnerably “…someone like you…” in a way that hit the intensity of what she felt in that moment when she looked at him in light of that question.
