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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/1532862
Rated: 18+ · Monologue · Adult · #1532862
Musings from a Goddess on the Rock
~How many of us feel like there are two people living inside of us? I do. There's the "good" side: wife, mother, upstanding member of community, constantly giving and taking care of everyone and everything. Then there's the "bad" side: lover, loner, anonymous woman, wanting to do nothing but indulge her fantasies. Which is good? Which is bad? Who knows. The trick is to try and balance them both, never letting one interfere with the other. "Compartmentalize them" my friend said. Would that it was so simple.

I look around at my peers and wonder. Can this be enough for them? Are they content to live their lives running after husbands, children, parents, dogs, cats, birds, whatever!! Don't they dream? Don't they want more? More what, you say. More experiences out of life, I say.

I want to sit at the feet of the Dalai Lama and experience the pure joy emananting from him. I want to work in an orphanage one summer, give back to God in some small way. I want to lay on a beach somewhere, naked except for the cocktail in my hand. I want someone to kiss me on the nape of my neck, the curve of my waist, telling me what words cannot.

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~I witnessed a reunion a few days ago, sweethearts reuniting at an airport, obviously after being separated for a while, whether short or long one couldn't tell, not that it mattered. I watched them wrap their arms around each other, all heartfelt and ooey gooey, kiss, hug, and then kiss and hug some more. All their emotion was out there and for a while they seemed oblivious to all the people around. Just like in the movies. I stood there, about five feet away, not wanting to stare but unable to look away. Embarassment flushed my face. Not at their obvious affection for each other but for myself. I was embarassed at how envious I was, how I couldn't look away, how needy I felt. And after the embarassment came an acrid taste in mu mouth, also know as shame. For they are not the same emotion. I walked away, unable to bear emotions which felt pretty out there, like I was stripped bare (no pun intended). Then I got over myself and sidled over again, feeling like an addict, doing what they know they can't handle but succumbing anyways. They had separated, gathering bags, trying to control their excitement. This time I smiled with my entire being. Because I was happy to see that this kind of sweetness still existed: the aching to see your sweetheart; the desire to kiss them full on the lips in a crowded airport, over and over again; the silly grins you're unable to erase from your faces.

I witnessed the bitter testimony to staying in a marriage no matter what: for the children's sake, for the business' sake, for society's sake. A discussion ensued recently about a wife's discovery of her husband's affair and her subsequent departure from the marriage. One of the ladies laughed bitterly to her husband about the wife's decision, at her giving up everything over an affair, the silliness of her decision. I felt enormously sad listening to that laugh - it still reverberates in my head so many days later. Sad because I realised then how much of herself this lady had sacrificed to stay in her marriage. Sad because maybe she had never experienced that magnitude of emotion that could wraught such hurt, and subsequently that action. Sad because it sounded so empty, painfully empty, that even her laughing felt like nails raked across glass. I saw her husband's face as he pulled on her arm to leave and it told me everything. His was a mixture of love, respect, chagrin and a haunting pain in his eyes, a mirror image of hers as she looked up at him, still laughing that maniacal laugh.

Two situations sided by side, one so sweet that it hurt my heart, like a lover's last kiss, gentle and warm on your shoulder. One so wrenching, like a husband's empty kiss on his wife's cheek as she turns her a face a fraction more away, so that he ultimately misses and smacks the air.

To be continued...............
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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/1532862