Tug of War

“All gods are homemade, and it is we who pull their strings, and so, give them the power to pull ours.” – Aldous Huxley



a-lunatic-mind

Sinking below the water’s horizon, I’m afraid to reach out to the hands offered to help. God, I do need the help, but at what cost? I’m just trying to survive, to pull my head above this liquid grave and take one more life giving breath. Can anyone just pull me up? It’s my fault I’m here, but don’t put me in the chains of your plans for me because you have it all figured out and for now, your feet on are the boat. The waters will boil, swallowing the best laid plans, resisting the strongest efforts, and here is where everyone falls. Your strong now, but I know the sense of control that comes when you realize that I, your desire, will be held near you by your assistance out of my tragedy. Your hand is what I need, and not just yours, but the effort of a village. Tug of war, I’m grabbed from two directions, pulling me not where it’s best for me, but where the hands want me to go. Just breathing is no comfort when, after I breathe, I find myself immersed in the murky water of slavery to a strange will. Sweet Jesus, my heart is overwhelmed and I cannot feel, I can only gasp, hoping that what ever hand I blindly slap the water and find, is one that will release me when I’m aboard.

Combined History – Her reflections on the past.

“The moment there is suspicion about a person’s motives, everything he does becomes tainted.” Mahatma Gandhi
bing

The following is an entry from one of my favorite bloggers, Descending Ascension. She presents a raw and uncensored woman’s point of view of a relationship. My favorite line: “For me the thread is very short, but of darker tint. The tint isn’t determined by experience but sentiment and things which taint.” Enjoy…


History of love.

What is love?
Scratch that.
That’s too broad and too narrow to cover right now,
So then,
Let’s talk history.
Your history and mine.
When we decided to be together, our history melted into one intangible net of experience.
Yours and mine and ours.

All those girls, those women, they are a part of me too. I begin to know them in intimate ways, even if they are in the past.
I’m only sorry to say your thread of past is longer than mine.
More women, more girls.
For me the thread is very short,
But of darker tint.
The tint isn’t determined by experience but sentiment and things which taint.
I wear your history wound 5 times around my wrist, while you wear mine upon your pinky.
I ask you questions, you reluctantly answer.
You say nothing, and ask little of me.
Yet you begin to have doubts, and become confused with the physical nature of our intimacy.
I know my questions are biting.
I know my remarks are heart breaking.
Does it break your heart that so shyly I ask to know the truth?
Is your soul pulled at whenever I am patient with your flaws and when I accept them? 
When I let them sting on my cuts, but still love you?
Does it make you love me more?
Am I a consolation prize, second best to your first?
To the special one in your heart?
So it must be, that she too holds a place in my heart, because, remember, your history is also mine.
I wear her around my shoulders while you wrestle with mine.
My history.
My unrequited love.
Is this my patience or unwitting masochism in which I subject myself to heart break and pain so that I don’t feel it by chance or at the hands of vicious lovers?
We seem to have a very odd relationship.
I can never take her away, nor can I ever replace her, just like you will never be him.
I guess the questions we should be asking ourselves are “If we could, would we?”
“If they did, would we?”
Would you take her?
Would I go to him?
Only then can we define ourselves.
What we are.
Yes or no.
Maybe you’ll know my answer someday.
Maybe never.
Just as I will know yours.
-R.S.L.S

Published in her blog: DescendingAscension

Combined History – Her reflections on the past.

“The moment there is suspicion about a person’s motives, everything he does becomes tainted.” Mahatma Gandhi
bing

The following is an entry from one of my favorite bloggers, Descending Ascension. She presents a raw and uncensored woman’s point of view of a relationship. My favorite line: “For me the thread is very short, but of darker tint. The tint isn’t determined by experience but sentiment and things which taint.” Enjoy…


History of love.

What is love?
Scratch that.
That’s too broad and too narrow to cover right now,
So then,
Let’s talk history.
Your history and mine.
When we decided to be together, our history melted into one intangible net of experience.
Yours and mine and ours.

All those girls, those women, they are a part of me too. I begin to know them in intimate ways, even if they are in the past.
I’m only sorry to say your thread of past is longer than mine.
More women, more girls.
For me the thread is very short,
But of darker tint.
The tint isn’t determined by experience but sentiment and things which taint.
I wear your history wound 5 times around my wrist, while you wear mine upon your pinky.
I ask you questions, you reluctantly answer.
You say nothing, and ask little of me.
Yet you begin to have doubts, and become confused with the physical nature of our intimacy.
I know my questions are biting.
I know my remarks are heart breaking.
Does it break your heart that so shyly I ask to know the truth?
Is your soul pulled at whenever I am patient with your flaws and when I accept them? 
When I let them sting on my cuts, but still love you?
Does it make you love me more?
Am I a consolation prize, second best to your first?
To the special one in your heart?
So it must be, that she too holds a place in my heart, because, remember, your history is also mine.
I wear her around my shoulders while you wrestle with mine.
My history.
My unrequited love.
Is this my patience or unwitting masochism in which I subject myself to heart break and pain so that I don’t feel it by chance or at the hands of vicious lovers?
We seem to have a very odd relationship.
I can never take her away, nor can I ever replace her, just like you will never be him.
I guess the questions we should be asking ourselves are “If we could, would we?”
“If they did, would we?”
Would you take her?
Would I go to him?
Only then can we define ourselves.
What we are.
Yes or no.
Maybe you’ll know my answer someday.
Maybe never.
Just as I will know yours.
-R.S.L.S

Published in her blog: DescendingAscension