Rainy Friday Autumn Night Apple Cider Candlelight
“Intimacy” is a word the relationship experts use a lot, but I have yet to hear defined. Though some use it as a code word for the physical relationship between a man and a woman, it’s got to mean more than that. The concept is just so sweet, so juicy, so elusive. Like an overripe piece of fruit at summer’s end, it feels squishy just to think it, let alone bite into it: “Intimacy”. The consonants sizzle like the first touch of warm skin; the vowels rise and fall like they are gasping for air; and the way the syllables jiggle together, they mimic the chimes of a xylophone; one note reverberating into the other.
One thing I do know about it: pure intimacy is as rare as it is rich.
Days and years can pass without experiencing the real thing, even when the Object of Intimacy — the only creature that can satisfy our magnificent craving — is nearly constantly at hand. The conditions have to be just so, nurtured by design or fate, and then, like sleep, it comes on very gradually, spontaneously, unexpectedly. Two people, at the same moment, have to want nothing more than to pull the covers over their heads and conspire there, breathing on each other in the tent of complete trust: silently agreeing, absolutely knowing, that every thought and act is safe forever from the glare of the world outside themselves.
Last night was one of those nights for us. And, of course, I can’t blab, I mean – blog, about it or I would be violating the prime directive of intimacy; the universe would starve me for a long time after such an infraction; my loved one would drop the rope that binds us together and who could blame him?
In the glow of the morning-after, it is sad to think about Intimacy-Deprivation: an epidemic; a long drawn-out famine in today’s tell-all, bare-all world. Couples get tangled up in a tornado of a have-all, do-all, know-all, and the wrestle to extricate themselves from the mayhem — to find peace in a storm-cellar that they dig and defend together — takes a lot of commitment, a lot of loyalty, a lot of deference, a lot of restraint…and then,
And when it happens – when “I understand / You understand”, “I accept / You accept” ignites the dross of routine loneliness and love whips up suddenly like a bushfire – that’s when the buried marriage explodes into the light so that lovers are reconnected, rejuvenated, restored to their original state.
The whole process is all sort of mysterious: first of all, because no one can explain or predict exactly how it happens, and second of all because no one can share much about it when it DOES happen. I wish there were fool-proof instructions (we usually fail at intimacy, by the way, because we ARE fools), but since you have to build your own bonfire, and I assume you want to, I’ll go out on a limb and share just a few innocent suggestions. Come closer, so I can whisper.
A rainy Friday. An autumn night. Apple cider. And candlelight.
Hint of Romance
Intimacy is THE most nutritious food for lovers – feast on it.