In retrospect, the eighteen inches from the head to the heart is the longest journey any of us will ever make.
Intimacy. It’s more than a word, a state of momentary bliss, orgasmic release or a burden for the attached with licenses of marriage or domestic partnerships.
It, this thing, this described state…is a place of unadulterated purity, where universe partners with us to heal, reunite to oneness and experience bliss.
Intimacy is the art of allowing defenses to ease, letting the nudity of your soul be reformatted to a new normal – easier normal, a more comfortable normal.
You are truly seen, as spirit, as physical, as heart and soul and it’s all blended into one. Forgiveness runs a lovely and gentle course, grace flows from the belly of our truest self and a constant outdoing of each other’s affections gives a peaceful reminder that you are always on the other person’s mind, heart and soul.
I wonder if I’ll forever struggle with intimacy and what it means to be fully known. Every day I come back to this arena, committed to a state of authenticity in every encounter with others. I look for the smiles, the clues and the subtle head tilts that indicate I’ve been true to myself and made a connection, an imprint to hold.
Intimacy, this state I craved and desired for so long, began with myself.
Um…gosh, don’t make me say … “Happy Valennn..ti..nes Day”. (Gasp) Just go love someone, start with you first.
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