Then the things came through so fast they were ragged, without clear beginnings or endings… and I sat opposite her, and the things just ripped through me, the memories…
…sounds, smells, sensations, without time or place, without face or image… And as they tore through me, I could hear the sound of Sailor’s voice in my open ears…over the tiny trembling and shaking that became me…
She lowered her eyes, and sipped her tea.
“Love is a lie,” she said slowly, checking my reaction, her eyes large.
I sat stock still.
Her fingers went unconsciously to the slender chain she wore around her neck, and then her hand dropped lightly away. She sighed. Her chest rose and fell softly inside her T-shirt. The faint blond hairs on her forearms stood out a little…tiny goosebumps.
I felt a yearning rush.
She reached across the table, and touched my forearm, intending to calm me. A thrill went up my spine.
“Narc, it’s about love,” she said, “It’s the feeling that makes you want to hold me… But it’s not what it claims to be…”
She broke off for a moment, then went on.
“Narc, I have to say it to you…I don’t think this feeling comes from grace…”
A cloud must have passed away from the sun; Sailor was now lit from the side window. I could see that she was thinking.
“This feeling is not true…” she said. Her brow wrinkled. “It claims to give shelter, to protect…but I’ve felt it before. It’s hypocrisy, Narc…because it is not what it claims to be. It does not seek to give shelter; it seeks to take it: it seeks to be sheltered, and to be rocked, and held, and comforted. It seeks to take, and take, until there is no more…as if you could drink, and drink, until there is nothing left of the pleasure of my heart.”
She took me in with her eyes. Then she finished her tea, and placed the cup back down on the table.
The sound of the china against the warm wood was like a note of music.
Now there was a simplicity, and a sensuality, and a frankness to her face which I had never seen before. She spoke simply, and clearly.
“I know this love, Narc…it seeks to be secreted away…until all the world is oblivion, until all pain is absorbed into hiding, and comfort, and ecstasy… It’s the most pleasurable destruction: it is the heart’s addiction to the heart. And that is why the heart panics, and the body becomes turbulent: because it knows that it cries out for the destruction of another. And what your friend speaks about…the turn to hate… It is only the love becoming true to its own dark power. Hate is authentic: it does none other than what it claims to do. It is desire for the destruction of another. Hate knows itself, and is austere…for it does not make from joy a mask for its desire…”
I waited, said nothing.
“Narc, I’m saying this to you only because I believe…that if we don’t reckon with the truth, love will kill us slowly… We have to to fly free…so that our falling bodies take wing…like waking from a dream.”
As I listened, a strange sensation took hold of my body, and gradually intensified. I felt as if I were clearing of all tension, all discomfort, as if my body were becoming translucent, sensationless. Then something in my chest opened. I had a desire to fall forward. I wanted to go forward and down. There was suddenly an overwhelming feeling that there was something above me, something much bigger than me, something huge, bigger than the sky. I felt dizzy. There was something that was receiving me. I lost my concentration for a moment. I felt crazy, out of control, but at the same time as though everything were happening in a kind of strange, inevitable slow motion.
Then I was on the floor of Sailor’s kitchen. Sobs shook my body. This was it; this was the thing that had to come through. It washed over me like a flood. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so so sorry.
What the was this? Like someone who’d been converted by the power of Jesus Christ… I couldn’t believe it. This couldn’t fucking be me. No! Stop! What was going on?
I was bewildered, confused, embarrassed…but letting it happen, right there on the floor in her kitchen in front of her. Crying. Just crying. Tears were rolling down my face, dropping onto my jeans. A couple tears fell on my body. They were hot. I was coming the fuck apart.
(What was this? I was a man! I was a fucking atheist, God damn it! There was no God, no divine, no….)
But whatever it was that did not exist, it was in my heart…ice, and dirt, and slag, and crap, from my life, in the chambers of my heart. People I had hit with my fists, people I had screamed at. It was getting scraped out.
And then words started pouring out of me again…
“Oh Jesus Christ, Sailor, Fuck me…I’m sorry…”
I didn’t even know what I was sorry about. I’d never done anything to Sailor. And then I was just crying, sitting on one hip with my hand down on the floor, like a girl, crying. Wiping my wet hand across my shaved, stubbly head, and making it cold, and wet…and so sorry that she had to see it…and wanting to apologize for everything, all my flaws, which were all my actions…
Everything about my physical body seemed ridiculous, my stupid muscles and good grooming. Narc you vain, vain fuck. You fucking prince. What is the point? Your heart is a fucking shambles.
(Back Door: Enter Anahata Awakening into the search bar.)
(Front Door: Enter Cheat (The Second Touch) into the search bar.)
(A Footnote: Thank you Osho.)