Imprinting

Probably it was R. who taught me that it’s really all about touch. It’s odd that the incredibly sexy but incredibly problematic M., as much as he is determined to flee from it, sometimes gets it right. It’s also strange that, coming from such an undemonstrative family, I seem to have, if not mastered it, at least grasped the concept.  I’ve found it has been as simple as lightly touching D.’s arm to stress a thought, or reaching my hand out as L.’s rises to meet it.

It’s a stepping into arms opened wide, a mutual launching into the void, a falling together, it’s a descent to the most fundamental part of what we are, it negates thought, supplants reason, it obviates the past and the present and the future, it’s a surrendering of skin from which there is no possible escape, and those of us fated to have had it once, will spend the rest of our lives seeking it again, there is no quest more important, no drive more visceral, no need more fundamental. It is destiny, it is written in the ancient scripts and every star in the galaxy. There is no place that is or ever could be more like home — it is, in an instant, about every then and now and forever more.

NOTE: SSS will likely be on vacation for most of the next three weeks or so as I’m away, working in Berlin.