It could be flattering. In my case, it isn't. It feels good though...the sort of feeling you have when an old friend calls or emails out of the blue (ever wondered why 'blue'?). When that happens to me, I feel loved. Oh, yes, I know, you may think it too strong a word for the context, but 'love' for me is not inebriated with either Hollywood or Christian extremism a la
I can't live without you
You make me complete
For god so loved the world that he gave his only son...
Rather, love for me is the flowing energy of the universe, the ocean of our very existence. So to 'feel loved' means to feel that flow of energy in a fresh way, or to feel it when you have not felt it for a while. It's a good feeling.
It's particularly good when you've been suffering (or should I say 'reaping') the cleansing benefits of a traditional Thai massage while adjusting to a dull landing from the frivolous heights and entertainments of a brief holiday.
The former presented as a head cold - fluids suddenly emerging from the nose, head as tight as am overstretched Indian drum and a digestive system that wasn't a hundred percent cooperative. (Who could blame it after all the excesses it had been subjected to?).
The latter on the other hand may have been a little less straightforward, shall we say. A brief holiday...yes, well, a week, before which I wondered why and feebly resented the fact that I was spending it in Melbourne, Again.
No, no, don't get me wrong. I LOVE Melbourne and I LOVE spending time with my daughter and we did have a FABULOUS time with LOTS of laughs and GREAT food and NICE walks and SILLY shopping and GOLD club movies. So why the wondering and resentment?
Well, I guess it's because I really would have preferred to be in Paris or Amsterdam or New York breathing the air there, drinking their coffee, walking their streets, strolling their parks, visiting their bookstores, sitting in their cafes and eating their muffins or profiteroles or croissants or whatever, smelling their smells, watching and talking to their people.
But that was how I felt BEFORE I went to Melbourne and AFTER I returned. While I was there, however, I was fully there and joy was mine.
Returning, however, felt rather like that unavoidable and discomforting thud of an aircraft's wheels as it lands abruptly on flat ground, having only seconds before soared at flamboyant heights and speeds. The ground is the same - hard and flat - and, if you're lucky, it's not wet with pouring rain. Not that I dislike pouring rain. I love it, just not when I'm returning to same ol'.
So, you see, the mind plays these games:
- You enjoy one thing but you want more or, as in my case, something different.
- It is grateful, very grateful for all the things you have, but it wants other things...too...or instead.
- It wants to be free of commitments but wants to be free to make those it chooses to.
- It applies itself to the task or activity at hand but its background chorus wails 'This is not what I want'.
- It allows you to smile and engage fully with people around you but afterwards it sulks because you haven't yet made the friends you say you want to make or done the things you say you want to do or been the places you say you want to be.
But I think it could be mistaken. Much has changed. Dreams have become wilder and more vivid. Steps, tiny as they may be, are being taken. And faith quickly shows fear the door almost every time.
Significant changes. Not to be taken lightly or overlooked.
Your mind's games?
So Melbourne it was, was it? Well, let one humble bloke treading those Paris roads that you seem to dream of on a daily basis tell ya: Melbourne would do it for me anytime! Lol Does that ring that oh! so familiar 'we like that which we have but we'd rather like more that which we don't have'-bell?
ReplyDeleteAnyway, apart from the cold-bit, you sound as TB-ish as ever. You always seem to find the right questions, those that trigger off other questions, and so on and so on, ad infinitem. Mind games you want? What about this: I finally have left my rathole of a flat in the 18th arrondissement and moved into a wonderful new flat in a very posh suburb, just a stone's throw from the Bois de Boulogne forest-grounds. Moved as in 'moved together with boyfriend and dog', of course. And what do I do ever since? I dwell. So much, in fact, that I don't find the time to write. I just cook, and eat, and sit on my sofa, satisfied, relishing the warmth of central heating, and play cards with Séb, and shower my dog (does she NOT love the smell of being clean!) and daydream. And I'm really, really happy about that; yet my mind tells me that I should continue my novels, and comment on my friends' blogs, and do 1000 other things.
And if that's the lot of us humans? To always think about the things we haven't got instead of those we have?
Anyway, what you have, TB, is friends. I consider myself one of them. And next time I'l tread those Paris roads again (i.e. this evening, I gather), I'll say 'hello' to them from you. Deal?
Hello TB! Who loves ya? :) *waves*
ReplyDeleteOut of sight, out of mind doesn't apply to you, I'm afraid. Yet, I must apologize for my absence. I fell into a big emotional, time-forgetting hole for so long. Then, I saw you decided on a blogging hiatus, too. Next thing you know, two years have passed. Time flies not anymore; it dimension-travels. ;) This is to wish you a tardy Happy New year and to check upon you. So, how are you, my darling? :)
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