My Beloved Irritation OR 1 day and Counting


You know, it’s not just anyone I would let drive me crazy for 25 years.  I mean, I looked around first.  I did some searching.  There is a certain resume involved.  She had to pass many, many tests.  (I say this as she grinds her smoothie for tomorrow morning.  On her best behavior, no doubt, given what day it will be.)

Okay, seriously.  There’s this cliche that relationships are a lot of work.  It’s not that it’s not true, but work is like, effort, time, thought, whatever.  Intimacy requires that you open the closed doors of your heart and witness the shadows and the scurrying for cover, all the while not moving, not running, not letting the pain make you forget that this is love we’re talking about, this is about becoming someone more pure, more capable of generosity.

This week, I looked at my partner.  I listened to what she was telling me about her experience and I very reluctantly let go of my own perspective to hear things I hadn’t known before.  I gave up the idea that I was smarter or right, or accurate, and I listened.

If you think this is easy…well, it’s a good thing you’re reading this blog, because you’re crazier than I am (hard as that may be to believe).

The conflict we had this week–predicted by me, even though no one took the bet–isn’t an easy one to work out.  It’s not like, “Hey, sorry,” and then, “No biggie.”

My partner is very disappointed that the blogging and humor didn’t save us from ourselves.  I’m just sitting in the non-reactive moment meditation has provided, admitting I don’t know how to do anything but sit in the non-reactive moment meditation has provided.

It’s so powerful, not knowing.  I mean, it’s powerful not knowing when you admit you don’t know and don’t need to know in order to survive.

Tomorrow is 25 years of me not knowing.  Of course, most of the time I thought I knew everything.  (That was on my partner’s resume of qualifications to drive her crazy for 25 years.)  The fact that I didn’t know squat the whole time comes toward me now that I possess a soupcon of humility (and not much more than that unless I’ve just meditated for a really long time).

It’s 25 years.  We stay together because we laugh, because we care about the world in the same ways, because we believe in goodness, kindness and trying to learn to be loving a little bit more each day that passes.  We stay together because we are both completely insane and what sane person would even get half these jokes?

We don’t know.  We are writing the next chapter as we breathe in and out, as we go back to the Stork to fire him for the second time and he delivers a phenomenal session, making me wonder if he reads this blog just to beat me at my own game.

We love.  We hurt each other.  We open the closed doors of our hearts to each other, then run away screaming.  Or, on a good day, we sit, holding what light there is, letting that light be us, for each other, on each other’s sides, until the next struggle begins.

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