Being in love means being transparent, able to give and receive, able to relate with this universe.
Being in love means feeling with each cell of the body, when the intestine is unclogged and healthy, and shit leaves the body 30 minutes after food consumption.
Love is possible when the body is clean, the lymphatic and digestive systems function like clockwork and toxins and wastes do not occlude the feelings.
My mom asked me the other day what type of a guy I could be with. My immediate response was: someone who is capable of pooping at least 3 times a day. A vague guarantee that he won’t be numb, entirely frozen, and zombied by TV, loud music, competitiveness, dead animal flesh, and mass consumption.
– What about Greg?
– What about Greg, mom?
– He does not match your perfect man criteria, my dear
– But I am not with him, he appears and disappears, we just f*ck
– Watch your language, young lady. You are a PhD student…
– Nevertheless, we still f*ck, mom. Let’s call things by their names
– Could you be with him?
– He never offered
– But if he did
– I do not live in the if-world
After I hung up, I felt cravings for a banana, went into the kitchen, opened the fridge and threw away stinky prime rib leftovers that Greg put on the upper shelf a couple of nights before. Yikes! He eats meat and performs surgeries. He has less than 2 bowel movements a day. Why do I have a crush on him?
A bunch of bananas that I bought the other day was gone. He must have taken it to work in the morning. It is his nature, to use other’s belongings like his own and be sincerely surprised when people get offended.
– No one understands me Vixen. Sometimes I think I just do not belong to this world.
Being with Greg feels like trying to keep the double pan scale of my sanity balanced. My love for him is on pan one, and I constantly add little stones of myself to pan two to make it heavier. A stone for self-love, a stone for passion for dark bitter chocolate, another stone for watching sunsets and sunrises, here’s a stone for soft bed linen, silky PJs, and endless martial arts practices, a stone for my piano playing and smelling potted roses, a stone for massage and horse-back riding, a stone for boating.
Ironically, the two-pans balance was all messed up as soon as I got pregnant with Greg’s son. Lukas is on pan one with his dad, and it is extremely hard now to keep both pans on the same level.
Being in love, I learned to see beyond the scales, Greg’s meat eating, and psychopathy. But sometimes I think he does not exist the way I perceive him. It is the illusion that I created, since there is no other explanation for how come that I fell in love with such a jerk.