that it seems impossible to make snap judgments about who wants what or with whom. Yet, private as they are, love & sex have been rendered public through the huge lens of the media. . . The search (for love) has gone worldwide. So a process that begins with only two -- two hands touching, two minds, two souls out of six billion -- is presented to us as a mass movement . . . think of the mathematics. it could be anyone . . . (for loners) opening lines, small talk, seem repulsive . . for loners, spending time with strangers, again & again . . what currently constitutes dating . . is the definition of surreal . . .
. . . as for sex, that level of intimacy lies at the end of a journey whose navigation no loner can take lightly.
Social creatures . . can keep up a light conversation in a crowded bar, have a knack for telescoping those stages between
strangerhood & sex.
Between them it is just understood. And between them it seems easy to make casual arrangements of the sort Benjamin Braddock, sleeping with a woman twice his age in The Graduate, likened to "shaking hands." At least it looks that way to a loner, for whom every stage on the journey looms large. Just realizing that someone else is near, not even looking sparks a loner's instinct to escape.
. . . Prejudiced minds think in extremes, imagining that all loners want to be all alone at all times. That even die hard loners might let someone else in, someone, just one in but all the way in simply messes up the stereotype . . "You said leave me alone," the world argues . . Even anchoresses, the reclusive medieval nuns who sealed themselves inside tiny cells for life, were known to now & again to relish meaningful (passionate) relationships. The 11th century British nun known as Eve of Milton, for example, crossed the Channel to live near Angers in France to share her seclusion & . ."a wondrous love" with a male anchorite named Hervey.
It has been said before, and let us say it again: "loner" is not a synonym for "misanthrope." Nor is it one for "hermit," "celibate," or "outcast." . . .
. . .Loners, if you can catch them, are well worth the trouble. Not dulled by excessive human contact, not blasé . . loners are curious, vigilant & full of surprises.
They do not cling.
Separate wherever they go, awake or asleep, they shimmer with the iridescence of hidden things seldom seen. The pearl, the swallow's egg, the lost doubloon, the jewel in the lotus, membrane. You don't need to be told this. You know."
from party of one -- by anneli rufus
I love people all the time, whoever is in front of me, either by choice or by chance. This loving takes place intentionally & usually without question. It doesn't mean it is easy for me. I am always examining my own apprehension to love, my desire to move away, to close the door. By examining the door stays open a few minutes, or perhaps seconds, longer than it would have years ago, before I pledged to love the world one person at a time. In those moments something happens, a fragile little space opens up in that place inside, that place I am currently learning is another little brain, one not fraught with nostalgia or melancholy or automatic shut down memories but an intelligent mass all the same, --
This little space that opens when I stop to question my desire to push away, gives me a little bit more air to breathe, a little more space where I am not owned by anything or any fear or anyone. All these small moments have, over the last six years, added years on my life, and opened up rooms of freedom, like those rooms you find in your dreams that you had forgotten about.
I have no idea how to make small talk. I know those of you who have sat with me will not believe how raw I feel when i am getting to know you. I know I can be charming. But it is all treacherous for me. Kind of excrutiating Really. But I am selfish too. By loving you, I get so much. And you know how it goes, no pain, no gain.
I am by nature a loner, that's why it's so crazy that I put myself in all these public situations, why I give strangers so much access to my heart. But I am addicted to growing.
I was on this raw foods retreat a few months ago . . it was amazing how comfortable everyone got discussing their colons. It started out kind of awkward, on the first few days when no one knew each other . . this was totally to be expected, of course . . but as everyone realized that the friendlier & more respectful they were with their respective colons, the higher and more blissed out they felt, it got kind of out of control . . . the more curious everyone became about each other's digestive & elimination systems . . and the more glamour was placed around attending to them. I guess you had to be there.
Anyway, in one of the colon seminars, the teacher was describing how easily our colons get encrusted with the debris of our lives, like for years & years, CENTURIES EVEN . . .of course food debris but what really cements that food inside of us is our emotions . . fear, stress, anger . . .
I bring this up here because these seconds where I am negotiating tiny little bits of space for another person in my heart, in these seconds I can feel the crust around my heart cracking away . . not only can I feel it crack away but when I freak out about something or go on automatic pilot & shut down, I can feel the crust forming again . . & I can stop it by being awake to the love.
Now the love I am talking about here is perhaps different than the passionate loner love discussed above, but at this point I don't think it makes much difference. I am here to stand beside myself as a loner & I am here to make that intentional space to love. These tiny moments are not about small talk. They are about opening & surrendering a membrane. They give back, tenfold, hundred fold.
But it took me accepting how awkward it was to let anyone in,