blog - Page 6 of 10 - cricket speaks.

13…gate of heaven.

August 6th, 2023

Sammy was away. I gathered that this sacred time with Superbloom meant that I wouldn’t hear from her again until she returned home. I was wrong. In between moments, when they were within city limits and cell range, we continued our poetic exchange. Sammy inherited more details about my personal life, and I became the beneficiary of her discoveries, musings, and photos of the two of them in exploration mode.

One of these photos showed Superbloom sitting in a cafe grinning shyly while peering over The New Yorker. There was another of her standing on a city street in high heels and a short dress holding a 20-pound cabbage in front of her head. Sammy focused her camera mainly on the landscape and on her beautiful travel partner. Rare was the photo with a visible Sammy, but when she placed herself in one, adoration of Superbloom was the highlight.

Another of the pictures, taken after a hike, caught my attention. They had propped up their phone and set the timer to photograph themselves. It went off before they were ready, and what the camera caught was: the sexiest kiss on record. I suddenly had a front row seat to a very generous, but very private, performance. This was a secret club that only I knew about. Nevertheless, Sammy seemed amused by my expression of pleasure.

Offered to her in return were creative captures of my daughter in the midst of our moments. Bathtime was always fun…bubble beards and super curly hair poofed way, way up with suds. Not sexy, but adorable. Who could resist? Photo sent. At three years old, Leetl had just entered a phase of shimmying to the top of her closet and having midnight play sessions. Another photo, sent. I tried not to overdo it on kid photos, but I was happy that Sammy received them with apparent gladness. And I was relieved that she seemed eager, rather than bored, to know about my life in its much-different-than-hers presentation.

All along, I had been debriefing Anthony on my connection with Sammy…you know, to the extent of his interest. Little snippets were given here and there. With some of the exchanges Sammy and I were having lately, I wanted him to understand…. “I think,” I told him, “I mean…it might be that she’s kind of…interested…in me….” I wasn’t sure if I could trust my gut on this one, but my comment came after certain readings between the lines…the words she chose to use…”yearning to connect…sending you the fullest of what I have to offer”…. I showed him the texts of interest. He could scroll for himself to see the depth of our conversation, but he didn’t. I perceived the egoic equivalent of Anthony rolling his eyes. “There’s no way,” he said.

I was still standing there in the kitchen with him when Sammy texted to ask what wine I was drinking. I had mentioned having a glass (or two). The bottle was Menage a Trois. I laughed and showed Anthony the message. I playfully dared myself to send a photo of the label, against his better judgment. What was he scared of? He didn’t know her; I did. I was flirting. And just as importantly, while Anthony wanted me to pretend that I was drinking a different wine, that wouldn’t have been the truth. I sent the photo anyway.

And then, after minutes of no reply, I backtracked, quickly supporting my wine photo with copious detail…you know, the way people spout off unnecessary facts attempting to evade the truth. Ironically. Brutally. Anthony bought this wine at the store. I don’t even know much about wine. This could be any kind of wine, really. I think I just like reds. In general. You know. Nothin’ to see here.

The next day was Sammy’s birthday. After several days of energetic but sporadic messaging, I was grateful for her impending arrival back home. I sent her a message at 2:06 a.m., to be exact, saying happy birthday with a poem. What was I doing awake at that hour? And what was she doing awake at 2:10 to be able to send me a reply? And why did it seem like we were always on top of each other in the night?

I had also prepared a gift for her. I didn’t pretend to know what she could want materially…we had only known each other for a couple of weeks, and our connection was of a deeper realm. But there was this one thing. I had bought a necklace for a friend who had lost a daughter years before. The anniversary of her death was approaching, and I had inscribed on a silver circle a quote by Thomas Merton, a Catholic monk and author: “…the gate of heaven is everywhere.” It had a special significance to me, and I was sure the meaning would translate to my friend, but when the time rolled around to give it to her, it didn’t feel right. It wasn’t meant for her. I held onto the necklace and decided that I’d wear it every day until I knew who to give it to. Well………….

I wrapped up that necklace in plain paper, along with a note. It expressed how grateful I was to be in connection with Sammy. In vague terms, I made it known that she was very special to me. I included the entire Merton quote:

At the center of our being is a point of nothingness which is untouched by sin and by illusion, a point of pure truth, a point or spark which belongs entirely to God, which is never at our disposal, from which God disposes of our lives, which is inaccessible to the fantasies of our own mind or the brutalities of our own will. This little point of nothingness and of absolute poverty is the pure glory of God in us. It is so to speak His name written in us, as our poverty, as our indigence, as our dependence, as our sonship. It is like a pure diamond, blazing with the invisible light of heaven. It is in everybody, and if we could see it we would see these billions of points of light coming together in the face and blaze of a sun that would make all the darkness and cruelty of life vanish completely … I have no program for this seeing. It is only given. But the gate of heaven is everywhere.
Thomas Merton

In the note, I told Sammy to (of course) do whatever she wanted to with the necklace. It really wasn’t her style so I couldn’t imagine her wearing it but I could imagine her planting it in the ground or something symbolic like that.

I placed the gift in Sammy’s mailbox to be received later that day and waited for who knew what.

Meanwhile, on their way back home, I received a couple messages from her. She and Superbloom were listening to a podcast episode which she sent to me with a timestamp marker, telling me that this section reminded her of me and “helped her to place a sense she’d had” about me. She continued:

I have a little fear thought that I may be too forward, too much. And there is also a palpable sense of the great mystery and possibility which I would prefer to lean into with you. I know you will help guide me to a pace that feels good to you, even if it is in a parting. I only have gratitude…and a finger in a fun little electrical current…a little portal to God. Thank you.

Gate of heaven. Portal to God. Exactly.

I found Anthony in the kitchen again that evening. Again, I mentioned my conversation with Sammy. “But Anthony, what if she actually is interested?……I really think she is.”

“Well,” he answered, “Go for it.”

Previous–>12…bee charmer. Next–>14…dear pilgrim.

Image by Gerd Altmann from Pixabay
12…bee charmer.

July 26th, 2023

At the conclusion of our session, Sammy walked me out to my car. Expressing appreciation for having met her, I said shyly, “I feel like we’re actually friends now.” She assured me with her beautiful, melodically warm laugh. “Well, I would hope so!” she said, gently punctuating the air. I hugged her goodbye.

We were wrapping things up, going over some last notes, when to schedule our next session…when Sammy surprised me. “I was wondering if you’d like to go on a hike with me,” she said. “That way we can continue our conversation out in nature. I think better, and converse better, when I’m moving.”

I would have gone along with her for an oil change, so this was an easy yes for me. Not that I was much of a hiking person myself. What always sounded better to me was driving to a pretty spot and parking myself there with a good book and a good IPA. But I suppose with the right person…walking and talking sounded pretty nice. And I was just stoked to be going anywhere with this particular human. I said yes.

Sammy continued talking as she started up the porch steps to her house. “I won’t be able to go until after Superbloom and I return from our trip…. We’re taking a little time to reconnect and celebrate my birthday.” She’d be out of cell range, unavailable for a few days. They’d come back home on her actual birthday and then were busy with other engagements, so it would be a couple of weeks until we could get together. I was bummed to miss the big day, bummed that I wouldn’t be able to talk to her…but I was really happy to be making arrangements to meet. Swept up by feelings of celebration for her, I rushed the steps to her porch and leaned into Sammy for another hug, wishing her a happy birthday.

She returned my embrace, and then….

She was gone! We had been standing there talking face to face, and now she took off across the porch, down the stairs, across the driveway, and up a ladder onto the top of this shed-like structure before I even knew what was happening. I took that as my cue to leave. I had detained her too long, first with an hour and a half massage, then with small talk, and now with a hug and that one extra hug.

I turned and looked up at Sammy. She uttered something about checking on the bees to whom she gestured with her arms, standing high up there. I was intrigued and must have looked like it because then she invited me to come up. But a hint is a hint; I didn’t want to overstay. Although the invitation was graciously extended, I politely declined. I crafted some final goodbye words and went away.

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Driving home, I was a little confused. Just as I was feeling pulled in closer, which is clearly what I wanted as far as Sammy was concerned, at the last minute, I felt led away. I was determined not to let my sensitivity over these collected details affect my emotions or interfere with the things I had to do in life. “No bad emotions,” my foot. Probably all made up by someone with pretty weak sauce to begin with. I kept my head down (metaphorically) and just kept driving.

When I arrived home, I had this text from Sammy:

“Thank you for wading through my sometimes shy and awkward presentation. It is such a pleasure to be slowly getting to know you in different ways. Thank you for that delight :)”

Previous–>11…saturated silence. Next–>13…gate of heaven.

Image by Annette Meyer from Pixabay
11…saturated silence.

July 23rd, 2023

The next morning, I texted Sammy to say that my back felt better than it had in months, maybe even years. Knowing her, I did anticipate at least a polite response, and I awaited it earnestly. The truth is that I was stunned by our connection, and I assumed that I felt more strongly about it than she did. I didn’t know what to make of Sammy’s effect on me…just that I wanted to draw near in life to whatever it was that drew me near to her in our moments together.

I wanted more of that.

Intimacy.

She sent me a generous message in response, thanking me for returning to her with my experience and feedback, and for my specific contributions to our conversation, which she had also enjoyed.

If only I could see her sooner…but two weeks was pushing it. Upon parting, Sammy had advised frequent, longer massages, if I had the financial means. Tempting! But who even gets massages twice a month, right? Certainly not someone relatively young and healthy and living off of her husband’s income…not unless that someone is a spoiled brat.

Yep, definitely pushing it. I was resolved to be content waiting two weeks until my next massage with Sammy.

I went back to my memories. I didn’t actually remember what she looked like. Her voice, though…her laugh…her touch. That spirit. Those words that came from those thoughts. Unforgettable.

To her, I was probably just another client. To me, she was…………..

And then I got an unexpected text from her, a couple days later. The topic of “no ‘bad’ emotions” was one that had come up during my appointment, and Sammy was sending a couple of podcasts she had recently listened to regarding the subject.

Intrigued, I listened as soon as I could, eager to dive into the material, and eager to dialogue with Sammy about it. I don’t remember talking that much about the podcasts but her gesture opened a door of communication between us. A personal one…an outside-of-the-studio one.

It was somehow difficult to know where to go in conversation over text. Our in-person flow was in high resolution; downgrading to SMS, our words seemed to be under pressure. At one point, I made mention of my newfound love of poetry, and Sammy was tickled. Mary Oliver and Rumi were my new acquaintances, but she had known them for years. She requested my favorites; I sent them. She returned the favor, introducing me to new artists. I admitted to being a little bit in over my head and that while I appreciated some of the more obscure poems, I had no place talking about them, because I couldn’t do so intelligently. I playfully suggested that we could have an entire conversation based just on an exchange of poems. To my delight, she was game.

I don’t remember most of the particular poems exchanged. Again, it was a gateway into each other, and that was the real poetry. The essence of one poem elicited an echo from the other in a different form, taking the conversation subtly in another direction, little by little. Sometimes we would respond right away, and sometimes it would be a day or two. I waited with excited anticipation for each new engagement that, at this point, I knew would come because we were the best of playmates. I felt that, and I felt that Sammy felt it.

** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** **

One day, while my daughter and I were in the car waiting to pick Anthony up from work, I saw these beautiful flowers outside the window and wanted to capture them. My phone’s camera was having trouble deciding whether to focus on the flowers beyond the glass or on the raindrops that had formed on the window. I knew that Sammy would appreciate the metaphor and the imagery. Her response came in photo form as well, after walking one morning in the woods and coming across a tree which had recently experienced some massive trauma to its previous structure….

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Me: “What a beautiful tree…probably had no idea one day she would be so abruptly exposed. She’s so brave. And probably thinking how lucky to have suffered that misfortune, if it’s what caused you to stumble upon her.”

****************************************************************

And here’s a line from one of the poems Sammy sent, leading right up to the day of the next massage: our second meeting: “I want to unfold. / I don’t want to stay folded anywhere, / because where I am folded, / there I am a lie.” (quoted from Rainer Maria Rilke’s “I Am Much Too Alone in This World, Yet Not Alone” from Rilke’s Book of Hours: Love Poems to God) And a line from my response: “I jumped inside the ring, all of me. Dance, then, and I danced, / till the room blurred like water, like blood, dance, / and I was leaning headlong into the universe.” (quoted from Naomi Shihab Nye’s “Whole Self”)

** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** **

We made exchanges until the day was upon us. I drove to Sammy’s studio the same way I had gone before, but this time carrying a deep appreciation of her and of the unfolding of our sacred bond…and a tension that held the mystery of this connection.

I removed everything, including the last little piece of fabric, and I got back on the table. As Sammy’s hands glided over me for the next hour and a half, we barely said a word.

Previous–>10…on the table. Next–>12…bee charmer.

13…gate of heaven.

12…bee charmer.

11…saturated silence.