Intimacy Part One

I have had several conversations today, none of them a one that could ever be duplicated.  "Intimate" words; words especially intended for and directed to one person only.  Even a "Good day, my friend" is an intimate phrase, the way that I think about it.  I would direct it especially to one person, and it was for my friend's ears only.  What I'm getting at is this:  I love intimate moments, even chaste ones.  I love moments (yes, even chaste ones!) that are one-on-one.  Good work gets done during an intimate moment (or several).

By now it should be obvious that I enjoy expressing myself artistically; that sometimes words are insubstantial compared to the pure experience of an image finely-wrought and carefully-composed.  By now, too, it should be obvious that I humble myself before a power greater than me, a powerful creative force that must someday surely own me and make me bow.  I do long for that submission... but rather than a desperate frenzy, it is simply an eventuality that I know is coming, far, far down the road.  And I look forward to it.

These three conversations that I had today (and it's not even lunchtime... what a productive day so far!) have schooled me.  The first one was intimate; stopped me in my tracks, held me captive, made me imagine, forced me to consider and reconsider.  My hair was braided and fell loosely down my back, and the conversation called attention to this intimate detail.  A detail about my body that I had given little thought to (I cannot, after all, see the back of myself, generally...) became the focus of an intimate remark, and I was immediately changed.  Intimacy has that power.  The second conversation was group-oriented, and it was hilarious, but there were moments when pointed comments were directed precisely at me in whispers.  I am always honoured when an important and busy man pauses for a moment to whisper, to make something personal, to direct especially instead of generally.  Mark Twain once said that he could live for two weeks on a compliment, and when a skilled public orator takes a moment to whisper something private to me, I feel the compliment keenly.  The third conversation, though, follows the "intimacy is a small table" description from a previous post.  Intimacy is a small table and nothing much obstructs both people.  The conversation happens in any tone, and the table still stands regardless.  There is no approval-seeking.  There is no phoney.  There is only good talk; open thoughts; easy learning.  I can be myself.  I can be curious, stupid, intelligent, funny, confused, afraid... Thank you, Sir, for talking and for letting me talk.  Shields down, heart open, ready for laughter or for care... It is easy to see clearly.