Notes from the Neighborhood – A Special Collision

I suppose I don’t know what tomorrow brings. Then again, no one knows what tomorrow brings. I’m sure that we all have hopes.
We all have idea and wishes and dreams.
Yes, but so long as tomorrow comes then at least tomorrow comes, and with this can bring hope. If nothing else, at least tomorrow can come with the hope that the next day can bring change.

I don’t mind the stress right now. I don’t mind the quiet before the storm, at least not really.
Or not so much.
I know that I have something in the mail, or so they say. What I mean is I have something unknown on its way. I have the unexpected and it’s coming for me, right here and right now.

But so what?
So be it . . .

Life is going to happen regardless of our say-so and should there be something coming my way, whether I expect this or if this is unexpected, and regardless of the good or the bad (if there really is such a thing) either way, everything is coming at me.
Life is brand new. Even the undesirable features that I find around me now are brand new too.
And as we speak to each other, I know the world keeps turning. I know that the earth keeps spinning and that as our side of the world tilts away from the sun, either way, the sun will be different. The moon will be colder and soon enough, the weather will change. The leaves on the trees will change color before wilting and falling to the ground. And next, the snow. Next, the late sunrise and the colorful dawns that only come in winter. But I don’t mind.
In fact, I think this shows us how life moves in cycles.
You know?

I am certainly a fan of the upcoming season. I like the fall. I like the colors of the trees and the foliage. I like the canopy I see when driving along an upstate highway. The trees that line the mountains are all vivid and bright, colorful and beautiful.
I am not one to sign on for the pumpkin spice flavored coffee; however, I am not opposed to the seasonal things like a good bowl of soup, which by the way – I have been thinking of creating a collaborative project with you, which is you and I, putting in some miles and driving to different places in search for a great bowl of soup.

Perhaps this might sound silly to some people or maybe this sounds like nothing to most people. But to me, this is my way of sharing myself with you that could never be matched in any other way or experienced with anyone else.

Don’t get me wrong. I love the bright sunny days of summer. I love the ideas of you and your skin, tanned and sweet, and the sun is an aphrodisiac to me. In which case, I can see you in the sun and notice the bronzing of your skin and the lotion, or the oil and how this makes you glisten.
I love this idea. I love the idea of being at some resort or at a hotel, and you by the poolside. I like the idea of you and your smile when you look around in complete and total contentment.
However, and as I mentioned, I like the seasons. I like the different versions of weather and the proof that life is in fact cyclical. We go from green to colorful wonders and leaves that fall; and then we hit the days when the branches of the trees are empty and like fingers, gnarled like the pointing finger of an elderly man whose hands have been around for centuries.
I say that each season comes with its own particular ambiance. And to each, I have a specific reason for loving that time of year.

Take for example the upcoming season.
I like the warmth of the colder months. I like the vacantness that comes when people refrain from outdoor life because, to me, I’m not afraid of a little cold weather. I’ m not afraid to walk the beach and endure the winds because this is when the ocean and I can speak freely without anyone interrupting, intruding or imposing upon my privacy.

I am not bothered by the cold and, more to the point, the cold never bothered me. In fact, I can endure the cold and simply pass through the day as if to be unaffected. Perhaps I don’t mind the cold because the warmest times of my life were during the coldest times of the year.

Take my experience in a church, for example. It was February, just after The Old Man passed away. I was alone and working on a cleaning detail. This was done as a gesture of charity from the farm where I lived to the church which the farm supported.
I could hear the wind outside. Whistling . . .
The air was cold and everything was frozen or brittle to the touch yet, even inside the little Church, which was in a small Upstate town that no one really knows about and only a few people live here or even know where Callicoon is . . .
The house-like structure, white as snow, and older than the dirt beneath the ground on which it stood.
The outdated decoration and the green carpeting was perhaps older than me or my oldest living relative.
The drafts were leaky and the floor was cold.
But I was somehow warmed by a new sort of warmth.

I had a moment, let’s say.
I had a time where I felt my past and the sting of my loss.
I was sitting in the back pew. My toes were literally frozen and although I was inside, I swore I could see my breath as it left my mouth.
I had a conversation with either myself or the fact that I was there, sitting in the last pew, looking up at the silent surroundings of the church, and there ahead of me, The Son of Man, my Easter, Himself, The Big J.C, Mr Jesus himself – his head tilted to the side, crucified and sad yet loving for so many reasons.
There was no escaping the “Me against Me” or the “I against I”.
I have never been too sure about anyone dying for all man’s sins. I am not sure where I am in the pecking order of those who will be saved or those who will be lost.
I have my own battles between good and evil and yes, I have my own list of unspoken sins which, at one point, I know that I will have to answer for them –
Someday

At the same time, there was a certain clemency. There was a sad, but needed and understandable pain which allowed me to consent to cry.
This allowed me to feel and yes, this gave me the permission to make a deal with the Big Man, himself.

I know who I am – And God, if he’s listening . .
He knows me pretty well.
We talk a lot. Only, I’m not sure if I listen too well.
But wait – I digress.

My point is the estimation of warmth has little to do with the time of year and more to do with the location of my heart.
So, in reference to the colder months, I see this as a perfect excuse to be bundled up and dressed warm; only to get home to you and enter into a warm bed where you and I can collide between the sheets.
And right after, we can pass out and sleep in a swarmed body of sheets and pillows, legs and arms around each other.
I like this.
I like the idea of hot cocoa and the idea of a snow day, to which there’s nothing else to do but shovel my way out, only to go back inside to warm up and once more, convince you to meet me in the bedroom and collide between the sheets.

I like the idea of gray skies and rainy days on Sunday; whereas The Great Mother and Almighty Love, which is her love; as in Mother Earth, herself.
To me, this is when she decides to hush the world with a gray sky and throughout the heavens, charcoal clouds are outstretched as far as the eye can see – covering our side of paradise with a heavy blanket before the rains fall. When they do, I like the sleepiness of these moments.

I love these days.
I love how this gives us the opportunity to stay home or to binge watch a few of our old, favorite television shows or to take a few naps and again, once more – if I can, then I’d like to invite you to a dance where both you and I can get undressed and we can once more get together and collide between the sheets. 

I do not write this to hint that the only thing I think about is us and our collisions between the sheets. First off, there are other rooms in the house and other ideas which I can come up with, just to keep us fresh and new (as in ongoing).
No, I wouldn’t say that our life together is only based on this or the physical connection and that without the experience of our sexual desires, we would be flat – or nothing. I say that this is simply not true. However –

The truth is everything about you excites me. Everything about you turns me on. Everytime you look at me, I find that I am growing. I am aroused and solid in the most desiring way. I love you. And I make no excuses for this. I think everything about you is beautiful and I never want to stop thinking this way. So, I never will. 

I am looking at you and thinking about my next move or the next thing that I could say because hopefully, whatever I say is enough to lead us to another fling and more, this brings us to another reason to get undressed and to start to dance, which again, would lead us to another moment when yes, you and I could find one another, undressed and waiting to allow our bodies the thrill of another moment. And though sweetly, also animalistically, this would take us to a place where we can collide against each other and connect between the sheets.

I have never seen or met or heard someone who is able to meet your liking.
No one could match you.
No one could hold a candle to the way you make me feel. No matter what, no one could ever replace your details or steal your spot with me.
No, I want to live with you.
I want to do more than just exist with you.
I want to enjoy the ride and as we wait in line for the next trip, I can come up with a plan to go somewhere else, like a cruise, for example.

Did I ever tell you that I used to look at pictures of my Mother and Father when they’d go on vacation?
Did I ever share about their photos when they were on a cruise and they both looked so happy?

I want to experience that, but with you.
Do you understand?
I want to honor you with this because I know that you are the only one who would deserve this caliber of my attention
(or my dreams).

I swear, I could dance with you for the rest of my life.
If the Gods allow, or if fate gives us the golden pass; I swear, I will hold you for longer than forever. I will never let go. I will never give up and I will never leave you alone.

I will take care of you if you’re sick. And if you can’t breathe, I’ll run a shower to let the steam open up your lungs and I can sit with you as you let the hot shower run over your body. I will talk to you and tell you how much I love you. And maybe I could run out to get you some soup or maybe I could get you something to rest inside your tummy – to make you feel better. So you can heal.

There are so many things that I haven’t seen or done in my life. And there are too many moments that have slipped through my fingers.
So, please understand that I do not say any of these things with doubt nor am I complaining or lamenting about the past.
No . . . I’m not here to cry over spilt milk.
I am only offering the notion that time is critical and the moments we share can evaporate in the blink of an eye – and should I go or fail or should I fade into the grays of a final moment before slipping into the depth of blackness, at least give me this.
Give me the memories of my redemption. Give me a memory of you. Let me see the moments where, at last, I learned to love and share myself both openly and freely.
Give me a few moments and recollections of times where you and I laughed and let me recall the times that we cried. This way, I can relive the moments when we reconciled and colluded between the sheets.
Let me look back and allow myself the dignifying moments that showed me how yes – you did love me. You loved me perfectly. I want to see myself before I fade and look back at all the times like this. I want to recall when I learned to take advantage of the moment. I want to remember the times when I was brave and stood tall enough to live in “The Now!”

Let me think about the times when I saw your face, which is like a breath of fresh air to me, like a hand accepting me to hold it for the duration of my life and lastly, let me reminisce and look back at all the times we decided to collide between the sheets.
(PS: Sorry . . . but yes, I suppose there are times when we both have to sleep on the wet spot, so-to-speak. And yes, I smile and say this with a naughty little wink which I know that you love because I know that you’re laughing right now too.

Let me think about all the times we laid back, naked, with no plans, no agenda and nothing else to do but hold each other for a little slow-dance, and again, meet each other between the sheets to collide, to enjoy our collision, to arrive, and to come together with a mind altering, body-changing and earth-shattering moment which, at last, our bodies arrived into each other. As lovingly as I can say, this means you arrive like an eruption and me like a fountain, together, connected by both our body, our mind and our soul.

Some people would call this chemistry.
Me?
I say this is because you turn me on.
This is because I am in love with you.
This is because I want to give you everything and all of me.
Forever.

In fact –
Let me have this.
Let me live the rest of my life this way.
Let me lose my mind this way because I don’t mind going crazy. As long as it’s for you . . .
Let me enjoy you and our moments between the sheets.
Let me arrive. Let me make your body quake and shake away all of the hardships and hurt into something meaningless, like dust on the bannister of yesterday’s rejections.
 

I want this . . .
I want to live this way so that I can end this way and should I be wrong about my opinions of the afterlife, and should it be true that all we have left is a very small and finite moment of awareness before our body fades into blackness: then to me, this will be better than heaven above because no matter where I go, my final thoughts will be of you and me and our dances between the sheets.

By the way . . .
No one knows what I mean by most of this. However, I do enjoy this. I enjoy the subtle hints and the inside jokes which seem to have meaning yet, no one else in the world will ever know exactly what I mean when I say these things here.
But you’ll know. Then again, you always know.
You can just tell which is why I know that no matter what happens next, and no matter how good or bad the direction we take will be; no matter where we are or what we do – I’ll know.
I’ll be able to tell just by that look in your eye that you’re ready for the music to start. This way, our dance can begin and once more we could find our way to the bedroom or to the floor, or to the shower in the bathroom or to a hotel near Chimayo and have that collision between the sheets.

You really have no idea how much I love you.
But if you let me, between dances and romps and collisions between the sheets, I swear to all the gods and to all who may listen that I will spend the rest of my life showing you how much I love you.
Otherwise, I’ll die trying . . .

Somewhere, you are laying in a bed with your face so gently pressed in a pillow. And somewhere over here, I am waiting for you.
I am dreaming of you and though you are far from me in a physical sense, no one in the world could ever be closer to me than you – right now.

Remember that.