There is a scene in Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom wherein an ancient Indian man says over and over in a quivering voice “bring back to us”.
That is my heart right now. Broken record, over and over. With that same accent oddly, vulnerable. She is sitting cross legged, rocking back and forth, wrapped in a dirty sheet. Her words echoing inside my chest.
Usually she speaks in gibberish, music, whale noises, but this is soft and clear.
“Bring back to us”.
I might go insane from it.
I am already insane. Einstein defined insanity as “doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results”. I come forward over and over again, looking to be loved and accepted, I leave myself open, hope to the point of blind faith. I could be dramatic and say it’s getting harder every time. But it isn’t, this is who I am. This rawness is innate. I can’t help it. I don’t want to take it back. Not a word. I would throw myself back into it without hesitation, open wider.
I wrote a post a while ago called The Royal We, wherein I divided myself into 4 parts.
Logic, Heart, Ego and Vagina.
Said I knew why things had never worked with anyone before, we were never all appeased at the same time.
And then he came…bearing 4 Sankara stones, his attention, words, truth and affection bringing life and love to the village.
Heart, all in, glowing and showing herself, shining as bright as she could. Basking in the warmth he gave back. She is a clumsy thing, but every time she fell he picked her up and brushed her off and let her run around some more. Good girl.
Ego, appeased. Someone I admire, keen sharp wit, equally sharp tongue, unparalleled integrity, chivalrous, brave, strong and wise. He chose me? Sighing and sated.
Vagina. Fuck. I have a bad feeling about this. He never laid a hand on me, but I already know I’ll never be satisfied with ordinary men again. Truth be told, I never was. I just made due, not knowing he existed.
Logic? Not behaving overly logical at the moment. ‘Maybe this is a test’ she says. To see if we learned his lessons. Maybe he wants to test our loyalty by being absent. Sounds a lot like hope. Like I am Short Round, pleading for him to wake up from the Black Sleep of Kali Ma. Hoping he remembers who he is before he destroys me.
So strong is my desire to hold onto him, I can’t even cry. A few have slipped past the gates but I don’t want this out of me. Tears feel like pissing on what was, like I could shed it somehow. Just like showering after we talked felt like betrayal.
My heart is on fire, outside my body, he said all of the magic words when he pulled it from my chest.
Truth? I handed it to him.
Om Namha Shivaye.