“All the particles in the world are in love and looking for lovers. Pieces of straw tremble in the presence of amber.” ~Rumi
Dopamine, endorphins, I am chemically challenged. I long to be in love again, the rush, enchantment, carried away beyond the ordinary to the extra-ordinary, ascending in spirit where heart meets soul in blissful communion. (I hear a Hallmark card coming on.) My friend Nancy dreamt (the same night I dreamt) that I was with a lover who was my size, same haircut, and we were at peace with each other. She thought the lover could symbolize a new direction, new passion in my life. I supposed it could be me…love of self. Indeed, I have experienced a dopamine high from art making, from strolling in the woods along an undiscovered path, but never, really, from loving self. So, I seek her interpretation, new direction, unmarked territory, in pursuit of bright passion.
Research shows that humans need a balance of dopamine, endorphins, for first-rate health. The most common way to get our fix is through human contact, hugs, sex, etc. I’m a bit underfed. A hug a week is about all I can expect in my single life (and I’m not sharing details of my sex life). It’s not enough, but my pursuit of a partner has proved unsuccessful. I need an alternative, especially in this world of disenchantment ~ this world of mistrust, fear, doubt ~ this world on the defensive, eager to exploit before it is exploited. Even as I write this, my nearly expired Norton virus protection pops up to warn me of a recent threat to my system. Interesting timing. No wonder I’m depressed. No wonder my system is battle weary. I need to be consumed by something, swept away in love.
Love is an intimate, sensual engagement with the world. I can find a facsimile in my garden, in the peach pink wispy sunset, the lime-green tree frog camouflaged on the garden hose ~ jasmine sweetening the lazy evening air. There, I border on ease, but it takes work to get there and the moment is fleeting.
Jung says, “The soul isn’t in you; you are in the soul.” How do I maintain a soulful, soul-filled life in an increasingly soulless landscape? How can I leave my garden? When I do leave, will I be able to re-build a life that continues to bestow breathlessness, enchantment, that leaves me trembling in awe at the mystery that evades my logical mind? Am I stripping myself of the ounce of love and spirit, inspiring inspiration, that still exists in my day or am I leaving behind the fading vapors of finished love, taking with me the love that has always been me (I AM love, my friends proclaim), opening the windows to a fresh new morning, perfumed beyond my imagining.
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