Self-Portrait of Adultery (Part Four)
Transition
Self-Portrait of Adultery – (Part Four)
20.September.2015
Yesterday evening I understood you have not ended your relationship with That Woman. Today I think to pack and leave with the children. I’m much calmer. But I can’t stay with you anymore.
I’m afraid.
As you said, I’m very pathetic. Freak. Yes that’s what I am a pathetic freak. Painful and humiliating. It will pass one day. Everything passes all we have to do is endure while it’s still here. You think that the fault is all mine. I should have let you live this and then we go on further…
– – – – – – – – – –
You say again that it is over.
This is for the fifth or sixth time now that is allegedly over. I’m exhausted. Perhaps one day I’ll learn not to be jealous and suffer, I’ll surely learn. Not with you.
I’m immature, impulsive to take hard decisions. I don’t fit in with the time. I’m coming from the middle centuries. Or directly from heaven before the time of Eva. This idealism is destructive. Vaptsarov [1] with his grain of faith in some cosmic projection. In this time we live in it seems shameful to have values, convictions, to keep promises, to devote yourself and defend sacred territories. The Age of Aquarius requires extension, ease, liberation. And like any powerful new beginning, it must first destroy the old to raise its postulates on the debris. Of course these processes may be called in another more beautiful way. Upgrading, enrichment…Deep below however they all mean that something old should go and make space for the new. And this is a deep and natural process.
I will probably stay in the good old era of the Pisces so that I make space for the new Aquarius energy, Hers, there is no room for the two of us. In fact I have no room for both of you within me.
– – – – – – – – – –
In this furious society of rivalry and competition we constantly estimate ourselves and our surroundings and very often that estimation shows that I’m not good enough neither is the other person. And the place where we can find shelter and rest from this constant process of contest is love. There we know we are chosen. There we know we are valuable and recognized not because of our social benefits, family history or prizes won; in love we are valuable just the way we are.
And there, my love, we can be whole and authentic, no need of estimation or approval, no fear of rejection because there we have the potential to be what we are beyond all those things, the core of the onion without the protective flakes; To dwell in the protected space where we can freely express our inner world and spiritual life. And when you accept me in love you accept my entity and my true self… and when you reject me you reject my innermost being.
– – – – – – – – – –
Don’t tell me that by choosing another one you don’t reject me; when choosing another woman you simply don’t choose me. Maybe you don’t reject me as your wife but you reject me in many other ways and many other shapes. You reject my closeness and friendship, the power of sharing, the sincerity of communication, the close attachment and the acts of honesty. The intimate relation. Though you don’t reject all of me you still reject a very big and essential part of me, something that is really important for me and you know it well for I‘ve been telling you this often. And because your energy is not endless when you direct it somewhere else I feel it going away from me at a cellular level. And in the language of love this means deprivation, shortage, not-having. Rejection.
That’s why every time I’m asking you do not ignore and reject the most precious I have and which I devoted to you unconditionally and with good will. For I’m not sharing only my female nature with you, not only my friendship, not even the motherly essence of my personality. I’m sharing with you my heavenly nature, my faith, my authenticity. My most fragile and cherished part, the core of me in this world and life. My most vulnerable and fragile internal breath that builds me and around which I gravitate. Please do not abuse it with lies and hypocritical dishonesty. Whatever happens just let me know, share it with me so that I’m able to stand beside you in it and over it and continue to walk with you in the path chosen by us and not blindly through the mud meadows of the dishonored truths.
– – – – – – – – – –
No you would not tell me if I’m emotionally unstable. That’s what I am. Hysterical. I can’t bear more lies.
Sometimes I wonder after so much ugliness in one’s relations is it possible to be bright and clear again. I want to be naïve again. White and nice [2] if possible…
11.October.2015
Forest heavy with moisture, drops, salamanders, thousands of mushrooms, insects, noises, happy children. It’s nice. I wish I wouldn’t spoil everything with my constant doubts; all day long I’m clenching my teeth not to ask things.
Earlier
11.August.2016
The car was driving along a country road. I was sitting, hugging my knees on the seat beside you. I had completely dissolved at this moment there was no I, just spread particles of throbbing emptiness. My anger was left in the water closet of the small apartment in Varna and had drained out with the water in the sewerage. I couldn’t feel my palms, my hands were shaking, my fingers numb. I let my hair fall loose, I needed to spill, to dissolve in the sunset rays of the late afternoon and disappear, swallowed by the warm asphalt under our car wheels. There was no pain anymore, only my heart was pulsating irregularly. I was watching the sunburned stubble fields along the road and as they passed by my unfulfilled dreams and believes and expectations and convictions were left behind.
Then you started to talk. About Her. About the strength with which you long for her, your craving to melt in her and the pain of the impossibility of that yearning physical presence. For your love and the pure male energy reflected in Her female image. For the cosmic predestination of your experience, the merging with your soul mate, with the female half of your essence.
I listened and I knew that what flickers all around me and inside me is love. Then I let myself on your words; drifted on the sensation of this unknown self which could love in spite of the rejection and through it. Rolled down the window and the wind struck me in my chests, I was out of breath and opened my lungs to survive. I could see myself in the rear-view mirror, a pale moon creature without life only the dark spots at the place of my eyes linked me to the one I was a few hours ago.
– – – – – – – – – –
The car stopped and we got down. My knees bended. I walked along the dry cracked land and let the wind pass through me and the spread particles of my body. My hand was touching the bulging dried herbs and I was feeling with my half consciousness a pair of two small feet following me.
I lit a cigarette and the inhaled smoke made me dizzy and lowered to the land. Buried my palm in the dry soil; took off my sandals and ploughed with my feet the cracked scratching land. I could see in taking photos in the distance, I could feel that painful delight in you, the same I could feel in me. Thanks to it I knew I’m still alive that something is left in me and around this core I could build myself anew. Not now, after some time. When the pain fades, when I bury my ego in that same soil where I had buried my feet and palms and my love. When I ground myself again and the spread particles of what I used to be before Her start to stick back to each other and form again my human female being. Another one, not the same.
[1]Nikola Vaptsarov – a Bulgarian poet, reference is made to his poem “Faith”
[2] The author refers to the Bulgarian poet Petya Dubarova and her poem “Goodness”
To be continued…
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