Honesty is such a lonely word. Everyone is so untrue.
You and I won’t speak the truth that scratches at the walls of our hearts. We know honesty will free us - it is our deepest craving. But we don’t dare. Speaking our truth has brutalized us. And as much as I want to, I cannot bear to see you naked. Your vulnerability would strip me of my protective illusory self. And I need this socially acceptable and attenuated facade in order to control us. It restrains me when all I want is to break down the door between us and pull you to the floor in a crazed act of passion.
... abandonment is a thing afterall. We remember it all too well... at least our bodies do. We don’t dare say what we really think, lest we plummet once again into that dark sorrow. We felt so betrayed by those who spoke of love like they knew what it meant. They tricked us; they lied so earnestly. They didn’t love themselves.
So you hide from me; I hide from me. It’s understandable. We are so safe at the level of comfort that our lies allow us. We substitute with a weak compliment the truth that could potentially save us. A lesser truth. Or worse; silence.
Our bodies are vibrantly alive for every moment of every day, and yet we play so small. We are mortified in our shame. So much so that we deny our own beauty, and each other's. And in those rare moments when we feel something other than complete selfishness we feel guilty for wanting more.
What if, in the discomfort of my mollification, I loved you boldly, and told you what I really see behind your mask? What if I could even allow myself to see what it is that I truly want from you? To be splayed open for your love to rush in. Could we stand still and let the fear move like wildfire through us, burning down our immunity to each other? Could we stand in that fire until we are red hot embers?
What if I could live you large and full? And penetrate your fullness with my honest gaze. Mmmm.... a revolutionary act of vulnerability it would be. To surrender to your authenticity; to play it really hard for once. To risk opening our hearts, minds and bodies to each other, and return us to the fever of childishness that only wants to be loved and accepted.
Were I to tell you, "you are spoiling your love!" instead of "I don’t understand your choices," then you might hold me responsible for my own. We are broken to shame’s saddle; bound to political correctness. And so afraid of rejection that we will sacrifice everything to ensure we won’t have to face it. And we’ll sacrifice everyone else too. Our children, our spouse, parents, siblings. We’ll stay silent in our deepest passions and most outlandish perceptions, because what if you don’t accept me? Or worse, what if you are roundly rejected? What if I lose you?
Let’s halt the conspiracy now! Let us speak of those things that put us at risk for deep conflict and passion’s fever. “I would do anything to lay in your beautiful arms and feel your breath on my face.” What if you told me how I betrayed you on the deepest level? What if you said, "I see you but you can’t. Let me tell you about it." Please risk seeing and speaking the truth of you and I, instead of those softened blows you administer to keep us at bay. Let us commit defiant and shameless acts of love.