Now that our bones lay buried below us, like stones pressed into the earth

I spent most of the day weeding at my grandmother's house. She has a garden on each side of her house; I only managed to tackle the front and the one by the garage. Because she's 94 and not very mobile, she hasn't been able to do any landscaping. Consequently, every square inch of her gardens have been overrun with weeds. I had been asked to take care of the front of the house, but I figured I'd try and tackle more. I had arrived late in the morning and when late afternoon hit, I had only half of the job done. Around that time, my grandmother came out and asked if I was going to weed the rear gardens and the one on the other side of the house. I almost said "Are you fucking kidding me?" but I held my tongue. Instead, I said, "I'll have to come by another time to finish the rest. " I had been at it over four hours and hadn't stopped to take a break. I was beat and craved food and drink and a shower. I was a little creaky when I left, but it was gratifying work.

Earlier in the day, when I arrived at my grandmother's house - I can't believe I'm about to share this - I knocked but she never came to to the door. I let myself in and announced my presence. No response. Where was she? I hoped she was alright. I walked toward the dining room and, as I passed the bathroom on my left, I discovered where she was. A short burst of horror erupted from within as I laid eyes on my grandmother doing her business on the toilet. Fortunately, she was looking out the window and didn't see me, otherwise the scene might have achieved a level of awkwardness I'm not sure either one of us would have been able to cope with. It took me a century's worth of seconds to gather my self and book it out of there.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to release into the wild that image I forced myself to conjure for the benefit (?) of this blog. I fear it may have left an indelible mark on my psyche. Another, more immediate, fear is that my dreams will be vivid and creepy tonight.
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I just listened to  A Love Supreme. It's potency has me vibrating still. An elevated piece of work, to be sure. I don't listen to as much jazz as I used to; nice hearing some Coltrane; it had been years. Now it's Devendra Banhart and I feel like kissing a woman hard on the lips between soft secret whispers of devotion.

I mentioned in my last post my experiences with mindfulness (exposing my bullshit, etc.). I'm still at it and the bullshit is plentiful, but there are wider, airier, pockets of clarity. The ride has gentled, turbulence has abated. Thoughts and ideas that don't resonate in a healthy way are easier to spot and address. Even if I still continue down the same path after concluding that my beliefs about a thing are false and need to be corrected, I'm at least able to be honest and direct about it. "I'm not ready to let this go", I can say to myself, knowing that eventually I will.

So with this burgeoning clarity, why am I in the grips of a "the heart wants what the heart wants" scenario that a part of my mind doubts will ever come to fruition? This has been going on for a while,which is odd because it has built its own momentum independent of any suspect contributions from me. In other words, often when thoughts of her creep up, it's not triggered by, say, a bout of loneliness or having just watched Eternal Sunshine Of The Spotless Mind.  No, it's been more like a running current, always there, sometimes in the background other times at the forefront. This has made me wonder if there may be something to this business, but I'm careful about it; I know where the nettles are. It's not a bad feeling having affectionate thoughts about someone, but the potential to misdiagnose or embellish them is always there lurking in the periphery. Careful, yes, and treading lightly.

It's a fucking cliche, but I can say that here, at least,"the heart wants what the heart want" has been an accurate descriptor. All I can do is let it play out how it's going to play out. I know you're saying to yourself, "There's a lucky lady out there about to win the lottery, son!", but you'd be wise to remember that despite possessing a pure heart, radiant eyes, extraordinary wit, the intellect of a Rhodes Scholar, a will of steel, the compassion of a thousand yogis, the love and gratitude of all the world's puppies, and a singing voice that could bring every single character of The Expendables to their knees in weepy obeisance, not every woman thinks I'd make a suitable or even mildly appealing partner. That might have something to do with them knowing about all the lying and cheating I get caught up in any time I'm in a relationship. Whatever, don't tell me you don't like some drama, honey.

Anyway, that's about as much as I care to share on the subject. I probably said too much, big dummy that I am, but it's not as if I was revealing state secrets or casting evil spells upon all righteous souls or anything so egregious. Nah, I have nothing to be ashamed about - how can one be ashamed about being fond of someone? -but I'd be lying if I said revealing this doesn't make me feel a tad squirmy. The more time that passes, the more I'm convinced this business is a dead end street. Carrying on about it like an eighth grader looks even sillier in this light. Yeah, but there's a part of me that resists the wet blanket mentality and asks "Why couldn't this happen?" Right on! Look, I've faced my fair share of rejection in the past, but the past is as gone to me as...uh...something from the past. So, yeah, why not? Time will tell. In the meantime, I'm going to take a page out Forrest Gump's book and say all I have to say about that.

I heard a story about an explorer lost in the jungle. He was on the verge of death from starvation and prayed to God to lead him safety. A few hours later, stumbling through the jungle, he came across a native, who fed him and brought him back to civilization. Years later, when recounting the story in his memoir, he remarked "I prayed to God, but he never answered. Instead, a negro saved me."

Sometimes we can't see the forest for the trees.

Good night, my precious beings, and never forget to take a moment to remind yourself of your greatness. And also never forget you promised to massage my neck and shoulders (don't be afraid to use oil; just don't get it all over my silk robe).

I'm off to watch me some Keyhole.