I linger into the morning with infinite gratitude. We both slept in this morning, my arm draped over my beloved’s peaceful form. Before, that, I dreamt beneath his curved bow. Earlier still, I lay awake a while, asking my Perelandra Medical Assistance Program (MAP) team to help me with my body’s aching: I tried a new bass guitar position this week while learning to slap and pop, resulting in some pain and muscle spasms I’m still trying to soften into release.

Last night, Christopher and I played a sensuous round of the 3-minute game, and then he said he wanted to do eye gazing while inside me. My heart and velvet yoni awakened and opened in layers while taking in those wide blue eyes. In my beloved’s gaze, I felt and moved beyond my fear, surrendered, opened, loved and received love until the divine shuddered through us.

I told my friend yesterday about David Deida’s book “Dear Lover,” and how I’d manifested Christopher in my life while reading it by affirming again and again that I was willing to be loved open to God. She ordered the book yesterday. Meanwhile, another dear friend gifted herself with Perelandra’s MAP book and said she is loving doing it. This feels like a confirmation of some kind since I’ve been recommending books for ages and only once in a while have they synced with someone else’s true needs and timing. Until now. Thanks, Beloved Universe, for our shared gifts.

I notice as I type that my shoulders keep hunching; I remind them to settle, breathing into them. I debated English Breakfast cup #2 today since caffeine isn’t helpful for muscle spasms. But tea and writing woo me into surrender in a different way, one that heals my soul and tickles my toes. It’s all good. It’s going to be okay.

Life feels much sweeter since I’ve begun to give myself permission to have and meet my strange needs: unlike many, I need time away from the world to integrate it. I feel it all so fully; at yesterday’s Celebration of the magnificent Life of MM, I felt the emotion in the large group grow strong in my chest. I teared up many times as each person shared their stories—even though I was there primarily to support the kind man I work with, married to MM for 45 years. I hope my presence was helpful. I loved seeing two friends I’ve known since middle school. I hope I communicated love to all those gathered there. I prayed blessings on us all.

And it kind of wiped me out. I cleared my own energy and took two short naps afterward. I felt my life expanded by gaining an enhanced understanding of MM, a woman who snuck into the Guggenheim’s grand opening by wearing a fur coat and a fancy hat and walking by the doorman like she absolutely belonged there. Who played with friends (anonymously placing pink flamingos in their yards at 2 a.m.) and grandchildren (sneaking them bites of whip cream) with joy and love. Who made those around her feel so very blessed to be in her presence. I’m willing, like she did, to seize the day, to be a fun hog, to love and play as much as I possibly can, to treasure and nurture my incredible garden of people. In the end, it’s the people who matter most.

And yet I treasure best with some distance. My friendships fill my life with incredible richness and grace, but they mostly happen one-on-one, with moments of shared joy in larger groups that make my heart dance. I’m social and outgoing and can influence others, but I ground alone. My artist heart and empath’s sensitivities mean I must, just must, be able to type here now, with this succulent tea, as I treasure and feel deeply the all in everything.

When I gift myself this gentle art of being, she opens to me the heart of everything.

A woman with eyes closed looking peaceful is submerged under water. Light shines on her from above.
Stefano Zocca on Unsplash