Life’s like Sanskrit read to a pony, Lou Reed raps, in his signature deadpan way, on the album with the above title. He was grieving the untimely death of two close friends, but his lyrics speak to anyone for whom faith becomes increasingly hard to maintain and meaning begins to fall apart. His choice of album title evokes two extremes — or, perhaps more accurately, two poles — between which at least some of us try to navigate our lives with varying degrees of success.
Does “magic” really happen? Or are only the inevitable losses, in these lives of impermanence, real? Some spiritual teachers say that only love is real, and that death itself is an illusion. In my recent isolation and bereavement, having forfeited my communal home but yearning to reach across space and connect, against all odds and reason, when other avenues have failed, I struggle with what is true. Some days everything seems lost — everything I cared about, into which I poured the best of myself, like sand into a sieve. They’ve all said the mass and shoveled the dirt; I’m gone. But instead of moving into the next realm, I’m still trying to talk to Demi Moore.
**
As I’ve often mentioned before, I was raised on magic: tales of the parting of seas and man-swallowing fish and people raised from the dead, as well as the Chronicles of Narnia and the more heretical flying carpets and shriveled wizards I encountered in secular schoolbooks. My own rich imagination conjured up its own lands of Oz, where I could breathe underwater and fly and travel to far galaxies, and I always won the handsome prince…even if it was just Simon, my father’s colleague’s son, who in reality barely took notice of me. I constantly daydreamed and drew comic strips and wrote stories, escaping into worlds of my own creation where I could make anything happen.
Externally, however, I was just a shy A student in her brother’s hand-me-down shirts, beloved of teachers and other girls but like a potted plant to the boys. And then in high school I collided full-speed with scientific materialism, which shattered all of my various faiths into smithereens. That loss was so devastating, I’m amazed I survived. My coach friend always says I’m overly dominated by my rational mind, but so-called rationality was the only thing I retained with which to construct sanity and meaning when everything else imploded. In self-defense, and for a while after that, I was skeptical of everything that wouldn’t have been endorsed by Michael Shermer. Eventually at philosophy school it would hit me — somewhere slogging through Hume, Kant, and Hegel — that the finite human mind and its evolving consciousness is only a limited element within all that exists, and isn’t really in the master position to step outside and be ultimate judge. (Russ will want to argue that point; I won’t.)
But the desire, if not the uncritical capacity, to believe in magic never left me.
**
To my adult self, “magic” describes coincidences that suggest connections too great to be random — but the connections themselves aren’t explicable by rational or traditionally scientific means. Like when you start wondering what happened to your college study buddy after all these years, and on the same day he locates you through Google. Or just when you start thinking about moving to the mountains, a friend mentions in passing that her in-laws are looking for a year-round caretaker for their cabin. Eastern religion and the quantum mystics attribute this to the interconnectedness of all beings (or molecules, or energy), and in recent years, it’s become all the rage (thanks largely to Oprah) to set intentions and attempt to manifest desires in the external world. For those of us used to striving and disappointment, it sounds way too good and too crazy to be true. (Yet I should add that my mind did, somehow, literally triumph over matter once, when I managed to twist and untwist a very hard stainless steel spoon a healthy young man couldn’t budge.)
I’ve been brooding over some very specific instances of this kind of magic that seem too good and too crazy to be true. It seems much more sensible to believe in metaphysical powerlessness…and much more realistic (based on my experience) to believe that this solitary pariah is yesterday’s news, upstaged and forgotten, rather than connected and wanted. After all, what’s more excruciatingly painful than to go ahead and believe in a happy, sappy dream only to wake up to cold, unforgiving facts?
**
A few years ago I came across a book by a woman who was able to realize a lifelong dream and give birth at the age of fifty-seven to healthy twins. I was reading a lot of change-your-life self-help books at the time, feeling stuck and uninspired in my monotonous routines, without any passion or prospects. The book was full of visualization exercises that claimed to utillize magnetic energy and color healing, so I was rolling my eyes a bit, but this woman was the living poster child for her own technique. I took it home.
The author urged me to visualize what I desired most. Without holding back. So instead of envisioning my dream career, like the self-sufficient feminist loner I pretended to be (with all my fulfilling friendships, etc.), I indulged. I indulged like that child who believed in magic. I created a man from scratch, something I hadn’t tried before, loading him up with all the great traits and tastes and qualities I’d never found in one centralized location. I made him my favorite combination of physical attributes, too — the kind of man who would be my feminine version of a wank-fantasy. The kind of man I’d never believed I could have. (What the hell, it was just the sort of escapist fun I’d enjoyed in my youth, and I was bored with my “real” life.) I followed the book’s exercises, with all its imagery of violet light and golden suns and silver orbs.
In the meantime I had started taking yoga classes at a new studio, thanks to the generosity of a friend who wouldn’t have used her gift certificate otherwise. One day I walked out of a class, and there was a guy sitting on the floor waiting to go in. I stared, almost agape. I couldn’t help it. He was my wank-fantasy. In the flesh. Right down to the freaking haircut.
I couldn’t speak to him for weeks, expecting him to be aloof and at least moderately arrogant, the way ridiculously attractive men often are, but when I did work up the nerve to say hello I found myself chatting with an incredibly warm and engaging man my own age who cared about progressive politics and underground music and a host of other things I’d asked for that made our meeting that much more unbelievable.
**
“Can’t you do it again?” asks my life coach friend. Even he is ready to admit that some things may be impossible.
“What, like a clone?” I reply irritably. Assuming you really could conjure a duplicate dreamboat out of thin air, the unfortunate guy would be like Splenda, a derivative and inferior substitute.
Anyone I try to picture now is just a poor man’s Sonny.
**
Most of my friends don’t know that story. (They don’t even know about him, for that matter, or this blog.) But I used those visualization techniques again, a few months later, in an experimental attempt to help my new friend.
At the time, he was trying to negotiate custody with an angry ex who wanted to give him no more than one day a week with the children who are — if there is never another — the true love of his life. I knew that that outcome would break his heart. I also knew already that I loved him, with an inexplicable sense of fatedness, even if the outcome of that would break mine. I wanted for him, at least, to be with his treasure.
Late one night, I imagined a flood of pink light (symbolizing unconditional love, according to the book) flowing out from my heart and surrounding the ex-wife in her bed across town. I gently suggested to this remote stranger that no matter how much she might hate and want to punish him right now, her children loved and needed their father. She knew what the right thing to do was. I blessed her sincerely, turned off the “light,” and went to sleep.
The next time I saw Sonny, he was ebullient. The latest mediation had been a 180-degree turnaround. His usually intractable adversary had been much calmer and infinitely more accommodating, and they had ultimately agreed to a near-equal custody split. Again, I had to keep my jaw from hitting the pavement.
It was enough to make a grownup believe in the Easter Bunny.
**
He posts some family photos on our social network, and I want to weep, he’s so handsome. I’m not strong enough or large enough to withstand that much beauty, or contain this much desire. I can’t bear the way the soft fabric of his sweater clings to the indentation between his pectorals. If he were any more achingly desirable, I would die. You’re just like an angel/your skin makes me cry. Sometimes getting a man naked demystifies his allure and frees you; sometimes once is enough; sometimes once is too much. Then there are those other times.
I can’t help but wonder who else is looking, and aching. It always seems self-evident to me that any other female is likelier than I am to captivate, and it always startles me when I look in the bathroom mirror and see a decidedly good-looking woman (other women say beautiful) blinking back at me. Inside, I think I look like George Constanza. I’m a creep/I’m a weirdo. And there are so many other attractive possibilities for him, like the extremely pretty, slender twentysomething immersed in the studio’s life who is a good friend of his. She’s a wonderful person; I have no ill to speak of her, and what’s more, she’s on the inside of that fence, still spiritually correct and unambiguously yogic. I want a perfect body/I want a perfect soul…
Radiohead may not be Sonny’s chosen soundtrack — he’s partial to more obscure indie label bands and funk and Motown — but he has the same kind of intimacy with his music as I do. Either one of us is as likely to update our status with a song as not. Anyone paying attention can gauge our inner state by what we’re listening to.
**
He did contact me after I broke with the community, both online and via the phone, but we haven’t seen each other, or even talked directly. My message suggesting we meet is still unanswered. I know how busy (and how popular) he is — which is why I’ve also attempted to communicate with him using “alternative” means.
I have a CD my coach friend gave me that uses sound to rebalance the two hemispheres of the brain, and supposedly helps the listener “manifest desires” more easily. At the time of my studio expulsion, I started listening to its ocean waves and picturing meeting Sonny on a beach, the wind scrambling his hair, to say all the things straining the seams of my heart. I do miss the ocean, if nothing else about where I grew up, and being with him, there, I felt nothing was lacking. Meanwhile, in session, my coach asked me where I’d take myself if I won the lottery and could go anywhere (the assumption being, by myself). Still stuck on a theme, I closed my eyes and saw myself lying on white sands by blue water. Alone. I didn’t like that picture; it felt incomplete, and made me sad.
During all of this, Sonny started posting topical content, like lyrics from a song about a seagull. He wrote something about hearing a song about dreams of the beach three times in one day. Then he announced that he intended to win the raffle he’d entered for tickets to Bali, sponsored by my former employer. One of his friends commented “So that’s what all your beach dreaming is about!”
I read that, and burst into tears.
But he hadn’t returned my call, and I didn’t know what to do with that. On my least favorite holiday (see my last post), communing with my music, I made my status a line from the morosely poetic, longing-filled Joe Henry song “Want Too Much” about impossible desires.
Just hours later, he quoted Roy Orbison. “Anything you want, you got it.”
I realize that this is beginning to sound like some adolescent Twitter version of High Fidelity…but you jumped to conclusions with me, didn’t you?
Emboldened by that jump, I sent a message. Nothing confrontational, just something simple and friendly. I didn’t hear back from him right away, but soon thereafter he pasted up nearly all of the lyrics to an old Marvin Gaye song, which gave me a full-body flush twice over — the first from naive pleasure (the child who still believes she could be the princess), the second from that horrifying and familiar misgiving that it was probably not meant for me (the adult who knows better).
Oh you, my sweetest joy
You can afford the best of life
I’m just a heartbreakin’ boy
Oh you’ve given your love to me
Girl, I can’t let you hurt yourself by being seen with me
We’re worlds apart, so close yet very far
So we must hide the love we’re feelin’ in our hearts
We meet in shadows, your friends must never know
That we are lovers, darlin’
Alhough it hurts me so, for your sake no one must see
The press of love you’re givin’ me
But you know, I need you baby…
One day I’ll make the break, my love will start to shine
I can tell the world that you are mine, all mine
Till then we must go on the way we have before
And never let it show without each other’s souls
I’ll never one-way track ’cause there’s no turnin’ back
Oh I need you baby
**
He’s met a fair number of girls in the shadows, believe me. But it’s been a long, long time since that girl was me. For all I know, he has a shadow lover right now, with whom he’s fallen passionately and protectively in love, only a maddening couple of months after the end of the serious relationship I waited out. It could be anyone. All sentient creatures — women, men, children, dogs, cats, goldfish — instinctively adore Sonny. And Sonny adores them right back, especially women. For all I know, it’s that pretty, skinny girl, who gave the song a thumbs-up. And I couldn’t hold it against her.
His reply to my message, when it came, was sweet but short. He was really sad that I was no longer at the studio and wished I would come back. I asked him to meet me.
Radio silence followed.
**
Why do I tell myself these things that happen are all really true/when in my heart I know the magic is my love for you? That’s an old Styne/Cahn tune from the 40s, posted by Sonny while I was doing my visualizations.
I don’t know what’s true. Am I misconstruing the “things that happen” — certain extraordinary coincidences — as magic? Do I have a profound, abiding, inexplicable soul connection with this man, or am I bordering dangerously on delusional? Has he all but forgotten me, neck-deep in other lovers, knowing I’m not what he wants — or does his silence mean he’s as scared as I am? Am I a princess or a potted plant?
Which is more real, magic or loss? Which should I believe in? I’ve waited so long, and waded through the endless bog of my own accumulated garbage because of him…sometimes approaching the closest thing I’ve ever known to transcendence. He’s been my Shams of Tabriz, my provocateur, my mischievous disappearing Friend. Who else, among all the other possible chickadees, summoned him up like a custom order? Who else tried to metaphysically intervene to rescue his family life? And there are so many other less magical things I did on his behalf that he isn’t aware of.
Even if it’s all crazy, I know I deserve to be the princess this time. Even if I won’t be. Even if the real story turns out to be devastating loss.
***
Walking along the charmingly seedy street down my block that, if it were music, would be a Tom Waits song, I pass an old black man in a veteran’s cap and a motorized wheelchair. “Morning, beautiful!” he calls out.
I turn to see him beaming at me. “Morning,” I reply, smiling. He tells me to have a great day. “You too,” I say.
As I turn away, I am reminded of all the people on this earth who handle their losses courageously every day, for whom magic may just mean sitting in the sunshine watching pretty women pass by. I am nowhere near that brave.
You loved a life others throw away nightly, Lou Reed laments at the end of ‘What’s Good,” the song with which I began. Life’s good. But not fair at all.
**
**
POSTSCRIPT/UPDATE: Yesterday I found myself singing “Half a Person” — the Smiths song I had always felt encapsulated my frustrating youth — in the shower. Today Sonny posted a YouTube link to it; it came up on his iPod shuffle. He called it a life-changing record.
Dear alienbaby…please only read on when you feel strong.
This is just a line to fill in so that you have a chance to not see the next lines.
This is just another line to fill in so that you have a chance to not see the next lines.
It is possible that *you* really produce this phenomena, it is possible that Sonny is not at all aware of it.
I am saying this based on solid experience. I assure you, this is 100% possible. There is a chance that it is different in your case, but just please turn off the autopilot!
The reality check is easy: judge on what he really is doing, not what he posts (and *might* be thinking/feeling) or even what he says, but only what he really does.
I know I sound like a know-it-all now and like a kill-joy.
“pass through the fire to the light”
Strong or not strong, I always read my comments!
It’s not that this hasn’t occurred as a possibility, either, but it’s actually (to my mind) more in line with the materialistic view so I didn’t go into every possible variation. I’ve heard the like before…kind of a more solipsistic take on the whole create-your-reality thing, as if what appears to be connection is more like a mirror — light waves bouncing off a flat surface. There’s no actual interaction. I’m only influencing MY world, basically…and I should take what others say or do at face value, as that’s the *objective* gauge of reality.
It may seem irrelevant, but I’ve always suspected that you’re male. I’d be curious to know now. It would kind of fit with what I was theorizing about in Sing, Goddess…that it’s more of a woman thing to have these “crazy” senses about what’s happening.
There’s a lot to speak to here, both here and off-book. First, since you called me out, let me say that I wouldn’t necessarily argue with your assertion that we, as humans, have only a limited presence in the Universe, and therefore our understanding/comprehension of such is also going to be limited. That, to me, just seems common sense. My take on it can be summed up as, Yeah, but what else are you gonna do? I don’t think you can meaningfully expand beyond our human capacity to understand, so I’m highly skeptical at extrasensory perception or alternate ways of knowing, whatever you want to call it. I’m far more disposed to think that we flatter or delude ourselves into thinking that we’ve hit upon some deeper insight or psychic power when, as William James observed, most of our thinking is merely the rearrangements of our own prejudices.
Having said that, I’ve been fascinated by the paranormal since a very young age, and have pursued alternate states of consciousness for most of my adult life, both for recreation and as an opportunity to change my way of thinking. I credit THC with breaking down my autistic wall in my late 20′s. So I’m sympathetic to those who go for things like meditation, though I can’t see it working for me. I like sensory overload: I don’t *want* peace of mind, I’d find it boring. But transcendentalism seems to work for a lot of people I know.
Can it actually lead to some sort of higher/deeper understanding of the Universe? Sure, I suppose. So can LSD, taken properly.
But I also want to say that even though I’m a hyper rationalist, I see a lot of gray area, a lot of things that defy easy explanation, things that can only be described as paranormal. I have a few amusing examples from my own life, which I won’t detail here. Question then becomes, what do I do with these experiences? Short answer is: nothing. Not in the sense that I disown or reject them, but I’m OK with things that I don’t understand–if I weren’t, I wouldn’t be able to interact with other people at all. Until and unless I can work these extraordinary episodes into the framework of the physical laws of the Universe, I’ll treat them as curious footnotes to reality, but for the time being I’ll stay with the established model of causality that has served me in so good stead these forty years.
I refer you to Michael Crichton’s TRAVELS, an excellent book that relates more than a few episodes that are beyond the laws dreamt of in our philosophy. I’m fascinated by how the rational mind deals with an irrational occurrence. A good meditation on this is one of my all-time favorite movies, ALTERED STATES. The science is sound (I’ve read the book), and is one hell of a good what-if. (That, and Dr. Emily Jessup, as played by Blair Brown, may be THE single HOTTEST chick in movie history. I like ‘em smart….)
Wow, Russ, thanks for the incredibly thoughtful response, in both senses of the word. I’ve been walking around today thinking that to post something like this is the Internet equivalent of taping a gigantic virtual KICK ME sign on my cyber-butt. Unfortunately, I’ve noticed that writers who get too vulnerable about their stuff (Ann Lamott comes to mind) will often inspire a clobber-fest. I think it’s something about seeing the blood in the water…
Too often I think folks on either end of the spectrum (hyper-rational vs. totally mystical) lack some humility, but that doesn’t seem to be your issue. “I know that I don’t know,” considering our position in the grand scheme of things, shouldn’t be a shameful statement at all…
Alienbaby…I’m sorry, my last comment obviously did not work out the way it was intended.
Maybe I made a lot of mistakes, not only to give unwanted advice. I try to explain…
Let me first point out that I’m not an english native speaker and I don’t always understand all of what you write, with all connotations, and maybe I don’t understand all connotations of what I myself write…
Often I think that my real intention will somehow be transferred in my limited words, but this mostly does not work
I’m sad currently, and trying to embrace it. Sad because of a misunderstanding with a loved one, and maybe this sadness affects my sensitivity? Sounds like an excuse…
It’s like my communication failure with you mirrors the communication failure in my real life…
I’m male, you guessed it right.
I was wondering if you were wondering about my gender, but then thought this could be seen on my profile here, but obviously not. There is only my age and that I’m from Germany, I guess.
More, I was thinking about Magic and Loss before you posted about it. I did not mention it in the previous comment because this sounds too much like made up.
I was remembering long ago, when that album came out, I did not look it up now, but this may have been in the late 80ies…
I was in a pub with some friends, and one guy whom I knew not so well, was a real hardcore Lou Reed fan, and we talked about this new album, and I basically quoted some review I had read, about that it was not one of Reed’s best albums. The guy said “you have no clue” – and you might agree
In a lot of ways I really had no clue then, and probably in a lot of other ways I still have no clue now. Sure I know that I don’t know. But some things I know…
Of those I wanted to tell you. I’m taking this very serious, maybe too serious.
I see danger because I have kind of a deja vu with you.
Maybe this is a mistake, maybe your situation is totally different.
I experienced this in an other case, I hope this is not getting too abstract now, because I can’t name names here or name too many details…
I tried to warn someone about a danger in that case, that is in my opinion very real, and this person really did not want to hear it, preferring to think that nothing can happen to her.
The strange thing is, that this seems to work until now…
Maybe you can life in some kind of a positive happy happy bubble – and it works…
I’m already feeling that I lose my case, whatever it was, with this comment…
I’m in a time pressure. It is in the morning, I need to go to work and there is a deadline.
So, one more try to get my point into a few words:
I watched something happen that has a similarity to what you now experience, and in that case it went horribly wrong.
So all I want to say basically is, watch out, please.
I think it can not harm to be a little skeptic about the object of total desire!
This kind of desire can become so strong…
It is the thrill and the hurting…
Please do enjoy it, but please don’t get burnt.
Does this sound overly dramatic, theatrical?
And about the esoteric aspect…
I wanted to point out that I observed in two cases, that extremely strange coincidences can happen, but it does not have to mean that the connection that definitely exists, does exist in both ways.
There *is* interaction, but maybe on some very strange levels…
If you want I can go into more detail later, but I’m beginning to fear that my threating of more details makes you afraid, very afraid
Sigh…I really wish that in your case it is different,
and then, please just enjoy the ride!!
The next mistake is probably to post something like this without re reading it, but there is no time…
So I choose the clown shoes
Oh my God, Blue, thanks for that. How fascinating…
I love that you were thinking about Magic and Loss, before. Absolutely love it! And the fact that you shared all of this with me, in the best English you could muster. You know, I don’t care overly much if we have differences of opinion, and you may be right, for all I know…
What makes me happy is when what I’ve written here on this blog opens the space up for people to talk about how and why they REALLY formed their opinions, and to share their personal experiences. Without that reflexive aggression that comes with needing to defend a position. *Especially* when it’s guys, like you and Russ — who have both now made my day, by telling me where your positions came from.
One of my favorite directors, Mike Leigh, usually has a moment in his films where someone has an outburst of authenticity that shakes everybody up and makes the masks come off. In “Secrets & Lies,” Timothy Spall tearfully shouts that his family is so tangled up in secrets and lies, hiding their pain, that they’re completely isolated from one another.
I think what may be the biggest problem with every human interaction and relationship, Blue, is that — as Don Miguel Ruiz has said — we’re all of us lying all the time! At least to some extent. We exaggerate to make ourselves look better, we fudge about how we feel, we get behind beliefs we’re not entirely convinced of. We lie to each other and we lie to ourselves. Especially when the truth scares or confuses us. That’s why I think you can’t always take what people say at face value. You may have to accept that their version of the truth will never line up with yours, but I’m not sure that means that your intuitions are totally off.
thanks for that, too – hm, always wondering what to do with your alias
I could address you like “thanks, babe” or “thanks, alien”, both has some kind of connotations, I suspect 
still deadline ahead…wish you a nice weekend.
My best friend calls me “babe,” so I wouldn’t think it’s sexist. Plus it may make me feel pretty.
Good luck on your deadline.
Long as we’re posting song lyrics–
“I’ve got twelve disciples and a Buddha smile
The Garden of Allah–Viking Valhalla
A miracle once in a while
I’ve got a pantheon of animals in a pagan soul
Vishnu and Gaia–Aztec and Maya
Dance around my totem pole
I believe in what I see, I believe in what I hear
I believe that what I’m feeling changes how the world appears
Angels and demons dancing in my head
Lunatics and monsters underneath my bed
Media messiahs preying on my fears
Pop culture prophets playing in my ears
I’ve got celestial mechanics to synchronize my stars
Seasonal migrations–daily variations
World of the unlikely and bizarre
I’ve got idols and icons, unspoken holy vows
Thoughts to keep well-hidden–sacred and forbidden
Free to browse among the holy cows
That’s why I believe”
–Rush, “Totem”
You can’t always take what people say at face value…
that’s probably quite true.
Yes, babe
Communication is a miracle…
Often there is a whole iceberg you would have to understand to correctly interpret some words. The whole world view and set of experiences of somebody, their version of “the truth”.
“What others say and do is a projection of their own reality, their own dream”
Well, you know that already…so, in the spirit of another of the 4 agreements, let me try to communicate as clearly as possible…
I mentioned that recently it happened to me that I tried to warn someone about a danger, and she did not really want to hear it. This was a warning not to be too trustful with strangers, especially those you learn to know on the internet. She had been meeting someone and she said she trusts everyone. Nothing happened to her in that case. This is like would you let your 16 year old daughter drive away to some event like a techno rave 500 miles away with a guy who looks like a psychotic drug addict and 4 of his pals…
Another girl I knew once traveled from Germany to New York when she was about 18 to meet a guy, I think it was a pen pal, there was no internet yet at that time. Of course, after some weeks, the guy tried to have sex with her (he was a lot older than her), she was shocked and left.
She was too naive and should not have done it, yes? It could have turned out worse…in that case he even paid her return flight ticket…
Would you travel alone in a foreign country as a woman?
Where is the balance between fear and naivety?
It really is not easy…but easy would be boring, wouldn’t it?
…more to say but again short of time.
thank you for your patience… This makes it totally uncomparable with what I thought was a deja vu. I was madly triggering false alarm…it felt so good to be the hero that would warn you of the dreadful danger
probably the increased stress level I currently am under, not only because of work deadlines (but looks like its calming down already…). when our nervous system is on high alert, we start seeing things…it’s the reptile brain…
I did not really think Sonny might be dangerous, but swaggering generally about fear and naivety in my last comment…and faith maybe, and certainly did not want to call you naive…
So…I’m sorry…in this case I’m much less competent to estimate the situation, I admit…all I could say is a platitude trust your instincts…
Probably this is a waiting situation, maybe you like http://www.peterrussell.com/SP/Waiting.php
btw. I somehow imagine you with coffee and cigarettes while you blog – do you smoke? If not then it’s probably Russ’ fumes that I’m telepathing
No problem, Blue. I wasn’t entirely comfortable leaving my last comment up, however, so I deleted it…and you may see that I edited yours a little. I’ve thought about deleting this whole post!!! I honestly don’t know who’s reading me — I only gave the address to a few individuals — but at times I think I say too much. I air a lot of my own dirty laundry here…but I don’t mean to air his, or violate his privacy.
I understand reacting out of the fear-brain, though. We all do it so much of the time. I’ve had to confront so many of my primal fears throughout all of this — and I’m certainly not done.
Thanks for that link to Peter Russell…it’s a good read. You tried to point me to him once before and the link didn’t work.
I do think you must be channeling Russ about the coffee and cigarettes. I believe he partakes of both, and I don’t do either!
totally understand your privacy concerns. I thought about asking you if you don’t have any fear that Sonny or someone else who knows you could find this blog and maybe identify you…
Funny thing is that I checked your blog this morning and only did look at the number of comments, therefore thinking “ok, babe didn’t answer yet”…Now I decided to re-read my own comment to see if it maybe needed further clarifications…
Hm, I definitely need to fine tune my channeling abilities…
Why the heck did I see Russ in a female body?
Next thing I was thinking was: maybe I should try to draw some kind of conclusion out of this mess, in a logical way…
What triggered my alarm was a combination of the following:
1. I well know the phenomena of strange coincidences that appear like there must exist some kind of mind connection
2. I observed at least two cases where this kind of mind connection only involved strong feelings of romantic love from one direction
3. I observed one case in very great detail where the romantic love drove a person totally against the wall, because she was so sure it needed to be both ways, because it was too unbelievable. But in that case it was purely on the internet, the two persons never met. So this case is not at all comparable.
4. Conclusion: although the “two-way-ness” is not guaranteed by the occurrence of such phenomena alone, I just cannot make any kind of forecast about the two-way-ness in your case. So maybe just a mild warning like “strangest phenomena still no guarantee”
Case closed for now, I promise to think three times before posting next time. Best wishes, babe
Talk about deadlines…I feel like I’ve been writing around the clock. Had 2 articles to post, and I wanted to blog too!
“Strangest phenomena still no guarantee.” Fair enough. Are there ever any guarantees?
Re privacy: for all I know he *could* be reading, although I’ve only ever mentioned my blog once. If by some miracle anything did transpire in the real world, I’m afraid I’d have to revert to being oblique and vague…other than perhaps posting my favorite Christina Rossetti poem.
I’m sorry, i really can’t read all these comments – the more worthy of being read, as they’re so detailed – but i can’t resist adding my own reaction briefly.
What you’re talking about may be more womanly but that may be cos men [generalisation alert] get cut off from things young. I’m sure someone else has said this before me, though.
What you’re talking about… so far i can use it to book a parking space on a busy lunch-hour, and to find a pair of bookends that pleases me when i only have 1.5 minutes to drop into a charity shop.
It is REALLY interesting to me that you have moved from ‘official’ philosophy – logic, etc, the most demanding mental discipline of all in my opinion (rocket scientists and brain surgeons be quiet, i did say my opinion) – into this wider, more open way of thinking.
I have read, and forgotten, about equal quantities of Bertrand Russell and Lyall Watson, myself.
I hate to keep saying you and i have things in common, cos it sounds like gushing. But we do, and almost every time i read something of yours about yourself, there’s another thing. Crikey.
I was just talking to bluemorpho3 about how I talked about that same “woman thing” in Sing, Goddess! I actually guessed by his reaction & past comments that he’s male…and he is.
Nice to finally get a more feminine (and more “mystical”) response. I’m glad you find yourself mirrored here; makes me feel a little less nutty myself. I like to quote that bit from Hamlet about there being more in heaven and earth…than is dreamt of in (anyone’s) philosophy.
Mirrored by a nut isn’t necessarily reassuring! But i can do it again: i quote that quote all the quoting time.
I wonder how often our instincts about the sex of anonymosities (creative vocabularising seems to be going on today) are correct? I’ve been forced into some techie forums lately, where most of the usernames are ambiguous – i imagine Shaggy to be male-ish, but CBell could be anyone – and yet i still get a feeling about whether someone is M or F. Don’t suppose i’ll get to know any of them well enough to ask. At least i hope i won’t be burrowing in the bowels of tech problems for too-too long…
Haha, my fellow nut! I think it’s an intuition we get by the way people express themselves and (at least for me) how much of an EQ they seem to have on the whole. Although a lot of women I went to that hyperintellectual school with would probably come across as men in writing!