I’m on the train listening to the Soundtrack to Bare. The title song, Bare, is playing at the moment. It’s heart-rending. I suspect my own emotions are latching on to the music as an outlet as is often the case. I often find that the best music allows me to move through my emotions, experience them fully so I can let them pass. Now I’m feeling sorrow, loss. I’m grieving for the singers, and for myself.

JASON
Do you remember, the day that you met me
I swear it was yetersday , I knew with a glance
That you were the Question, and you were the Answer
That the world would make sense again if I held your hand
Some day you’ll look back, and I hope you’ll remember
The moment of truth when I knew who I was.
How did I learn the truth you gave to me?

PETER
I will always remember, that first stolen moment
There you were kissing me, and time seemed to freeze
Now I stand at a crossroad and I stare at the question
If prayer were the answer I’d fall on my knees
But forward is calling and I cannot stay here
A parting of Souls as I try to move on
How do I forget the dream you shared with me?

JASON / PETER
I’ve never been this bare / I’ve never been so scared
I’ve never felt such honesty / Don’t stop we’ll never leave
A moment of such peace / Each of us standing bare
Still you are here with me / Knowing who we have to be
Know as you hold my hand / I hoped and prayed
We’re forever you and I / That you’d understand

I was up late last night, but I’m not exceptionally tired this morning. The 3 hour nap yesterday afternoon probalby has something to do with that. As well as the fulfilling and empowering weekend. Last night was difficult though. I was very lonely. I was realizing just how badly I sometimes want someone to share my bed. It’s not even about sex. I just wanted very badly to be close to someone last night. To put my head on their chest or lap and feel safe and loved.

I got to thinking about those needs, and what they mean, and how I can fulfill them. I don’t know how other people think or see things in their head, but it seems as though there is a fair difference between the typical things people talk about in their fantasy lives. Daniel always used to ask me “What does that look like to you?” when talking about fantasies. Answering that question is always very difficult for me. I used to think it’s because I wasn’t visualizing my fantasies in concrete terms.

Perhaps that is a valid perception, but I’m coming to realize it is less to do with some failing on my part and more to do with a difference of perception. My fantasy life, my imaginary world is full of very short instants of time. Vignettes. Gestures, short sentences, music, and powerful images. It’s that way not because I don’t know what I want, but because the internal emphasis is emotional. I live in a world filled with symbols and metaphor. Everything I see and do is part of a complex experience of those symbols. It all has meaning to me. When I think about my desires, I rarely think about the physical manifestation of them, but about the emotional response I am looking for.

For example. I’m spending a lot of time thinking about my body this year, far more than I used to. I’m exercising far more often than I ever have in my life, and I’m even paying attention to what I eat. (I’m not necessarily eating better, I’m just trying to get an understanding of *what* I’m eating at this point.) But as I think about goals, it’s not about wearing smaller pants, or not having a bouncy gut. I’m trying to change my body because I have an emotional desire to satisfy.

I want to look in the mirror and feel proud of what I see. I want to feel what it’s like to be admired by others. I want to run down the block and feel strong and alive instead of exhausted. I want to feel invincible and hale. When I imagine these things, when I picture them to give myself inspiration, drive, and the strength to work for them, the picture is a distant second, long preempted by the emotional impetus. I don’t know what I’ll look like when I break 220 pounds. If I work I can guess, but that image is not part of my goal. The goal is the way I feel about it.

And I found myself last night, craving emotional closeness that I haven’t had in years. I talk a lot about the implicit and the explicit. I believe that the explicit is a reflection of, an outgrowth of, the implicit, and I believe that our culture too often emphasizes the explicit, often to the exclusion of the implicit. Thinking about the emotional needs I was experiencing last night I started wondering about the possible sources of satisfying those needs.

The prime idea, the desire that comes up with those emotions is to have a partner (or a few) who stirs those emotions, who makes me feel safe and loved. I was wondering if that needs to be a physical person. Not because I don’t want a physical person there, but because if I’m really honest I probably have a lot more work to do for myself before I can expect a relationship to happen.

I found myself thinking about God. God Herself. The Divine Light. The Prime Mover. God Myself. Perhaps it is a conflation of desire, but is there some failing in myself that these emotional needs are not met by my devotional and spiritual relationships? Or am I allowing my desire to be touched, perhaps the most basic, and often unmet, need I have, to absorb the force surrounding other basic emotional needs. Am I wanting a loving body next to me and expecting that to meet a whole slew of needs in order to excuse the primary reason? Loneliness?

Depressing thoughts, and there is far more where that came from, far too much to try and record on this train ride. What is it in me that can’t feel loved? I know that I can not be an island, and I know I have people around me to support me and lift me up. But I feel lonely and vulnerable. I want someone to make it all go away, and the worst part of it is that I know nobody can. The emotional need to be freed of my vulnerability is maya. The security that I crave is internal. It comes from an implicit understanding of my own worth and beauty. It can’t be bestowed upon me like a laurel by someone enamoured of my eyes or voice.

There were a few years where I didn’t cry. I couldn’t, no matter how much I hurt, or how lonely I felt. Days like this I kind of miss that emptiness. Not because I mind the tears, but because they make me feel weak. It’s a silly feeling, a thief. My tears are my power. My suffering, my compassion, and my love, are the fuel of the Work. They make me big enough, full enough, to face the world and know that I can change it. Now tears remind me that I’m not alone. They remind me that I can feel, and that the world around me is full of the same pains and desires that I have. But on days like this I don’t want to feel connected, or a part of the world. I want to feel normal, loved, safe, and close to someone else. I want to feel that I am just another guy, turn off my brain and allow my loneliness to overwhelm me for a moment, take an anti-depressent and pretend that the world is doing just fine and that my own state is all that matters.

I can never keep it up though. Self-pity is a trigger for me these days. When I start to feel it I find myself far to big for that sad trap to contain. Oh this turned to rambling mysticism very quickly. I’m done for now.