Glimpses

He hurries down the steps with presence and purpose, a few garbage bags in hand, greeting his new visitor as they pass on the stairway leading up to his home. It is as though he’s in pursuit of his own thoughts, racing to keep up with their pace… to grab hold of these energy-particles, which are quick, original, and- like him- seem to emerge from nowhere, though their substance reveal a history—as well as his story.

I see a man in love with the challenge of tracking his mind.

Back from depositing the trash, he meets his client, this time at the top of the stairs, and ushers her into the chaotic-looking space. Papers, equipment, books and photos, which are scattered across the kitchen table and flowing over onto the floor, hide his laptop from view. I imagine he didn’t sleep much the previous evening, even as I observe his energetic greeting of the clutter, in search of the lost item. His ease negotiating the chaos reflects that the scene is not uncommon.

He is at-home.

And in the classroom: Wearing khakis, a button-down, and a vest which belies his affinity for the 60’s, he is ready to play the role of teacher…only it isn’t a role at all. Too grounded for role-play, rooted in the contours of his body, knowledge and offerings. Rooted in earth. He radiates calm, care and an endearing openness. There is spaciousness. The teacher is the man and the man, the teacher.

Inevitably, his students fall in love.

The intensity rises when his attention turns to the conspiracy theory. His voice grows louder. He asserts himself with both aggression and playfulness. Paces back and forth, in full command of the classroom, speaking with an authority that mesmerizes. All Mars Now. And the tone of the room becomes almost solemn, even as his eyes sparkle with the enjoyment of this authority, confidence and power of persuasion.

I imagine that he’s aware, in this moment, of his desirability.

I know he is aware of hers, as his camera offers her the space to be. How miraculous is the opening he creates, momentarily eclipsing that which burns within so that she can find her fire! The lens extends he-as-palette. He is red and Blue and the absence of color as well as them all, and she feels herself coming to life within this prism of light.

Desire swells now, and he is left to drink himself.

EVER PRESENT INTENSITY: Just for a moment it seems to dissipate with the arrival of a hearty, earthy laugh—the sort that originates deep in the belly. A laugh so full of presence that it carries its own passionate force…and I realize it never really goes away. So I imagine him surrendering to sleep. And my fantasy holds his body still, though his psyche continues its motion, politely and appropriately ignoring my desire to bring him rest.

He is at home, here, too, in the deep, beautifully chaotic recesses of (un)consciousness.

Oh… and as a young boy: His face is so soft and his eyes, large, curious and wanting. The desire is already there. So, too, is the surrender. Longing for the embrace that proves he is loved. It’s an embrace I experience when he holds me with his eyes. He is there, with me, completely. In me, even; leaving me yearning to dance.

His compassion swaddles and heats and melts.

And in that moment, I am aware of the man and the boy; the love and aggression; desire and surrendr; the presence and dissolution.

The All and the one.