some months ago in the midst of of depression begging for recovery, i set forth to look for a man who could accept me the way that i am: raw, unpolished, unsophisticated and damned to be. i thought that i was up for an impossible task, and that the bit of online dating was nothing but a bad invention. once more, experience proved me wrong in many ways.
now, for a woman with three ex-husbands to her credentials, one would think that she has no trouble in finding a man. true, there are lots of men out there, and frankly the choice is much too overwhelming. then that is exactly when the trouble starts. see, i just do not want a man at all. i never wanted a man. let me straighten this out and make it very clear: i never wanted to own a man. as a matter of fact, i own nothing other than a few debts to the income tax office and the pants that i wear. i wear pants and trousers over it, or i wear nothing at all, but certainly i neither wear nor own a man. never did, never wanted to, and still do not want to. meanwhile i have, to my surprise, discovered that there are out there a few good men, translate that to enlightened men, who are most delighted in my company just for the simple reason that they accept this scribing individual as raw, unpolished, unsophisticated and damned to be.
still, having been torpedoed into the algarve for a couple of weeks after a zen week in the alsace, it becomes obvious that i am one for the europe of the regions. i only care about nationalism when it involves some rather private and intimate practices of two cross cultured middle age individuals sharing bare life. that is to say that my other cross cultured one offered the explanation that both portuguese and italians pay higher prices for brand-new just built houses or apartments than they do for those of comparable value and quality but which have already been owned by another because of something emotional about ownership. here we are to the second-hand market, houses, online dating and the middle aged in the modern days middle ages. let me tell you, it is a wonderful world! it must be the renaissance.
yes, i dared to wish, and my wish came true. i looked for, and with or without serendipity, i found or was found according to my wishes. so here i am in the algarve alone and happy at that. it seems that the moment that possession is out of the concept, life can be grand. but not when it comes to property. i still wish to have a plot of land where i could plant some potatoes, and keep a few goats. the plan being that the goats would keep the grass in check while i was writing the next best seller. well, that is the plan about the dream and how in the land of milk and honey... one does not need bees. goats will do, thank you.
having had the dubious honour of celebrating a little personal occasion with family on wednesday, i found myself in a rather strange film. it was not a movie. movies have action and thrill, are made in hollywood; films flicker in despair, are static and made in little boutique places of insignificance, or at least this one did. occasionally one of these films is brilliant, on most occasions they are all but brilliant. this film was a family gathering, and it was a rather old film. i heard the same conversations that i had heard on another family gathering three years ago. these creatures did not once bitch about the price of petrol, however they went on to repeat the story of how about fifty years ago one arrived late for a wedding. present, what present? actuality, what actuality? iran is very far from the algarve it seems.
during the showing of this film, my french speaking relatives and i sneakered to each other about the fact that we were going to keep our mouths shut about what had just happened last monday. we conspired to ignore the present and maintained the semblance of being thrown in full regurgitation back into a past that we could not remember, could not care for, and for which nobody else cared for except for those vomiting it. why? damned if i know, but if i had to guess, it is all about possession. voilà the true nature of conspiracy, and we all love a great conspiracy. truly yours certainly does.
that i dared to wish is new to me. that my wish came true is awesome. it has been a rough morning, really rough. i woke up at dawn and did not want to go for my morning walk at the beach. i did not want to act on the concept of what i ought to do out of some idealized machination of what it is that this is about. yes, i like to brag about my dawn walk at the beach, but it is not every day that i feel like doing it. feeling like doing it has several flavours. the flavour that i enjoy the most is what that is my wish and my body wishes it. rested or tired, when i wish to do my morning dawn walk/jog/meditation at the beach, that is what is delightful. then there are the mornings when it is sheer discipline that has automated me to do it, when not even the thought of the rewards of such joy cloud my resolve, and i want to do it, just because that is what i want to do. there is a third flavour, the flavour of this morning, my mind said that i should and my body told me that i had other issues to deal with. i have much too often vetoed my body's wishes. today i gave it a chance. damned faithful this body of mine. i wonder if i own it, or if i am just doomed to succeed in spite of my mind.
i dared to wish for sunshine. there is sunshine.
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