Surprise you with the “intentionally celibate” part? No more than I did myself. I’ve upped my meditation (not MEDICATION) and “something happened that the 43YOV did not intend.” (Yes, I bogarted and bastardized a favorite LOTR’s quote; I’m a badass geek). I revisited, metaphorically speaking, my 20something self. Clueless about many things, she was (Yoda now; I’m watching movies again; other than that I can’t think why), but she never worried about love–finding love (or sex; this is 20something me), losing love, never loving or being loved again. She’d yet to engage in the almost life-obliterating war with her past. She shaped vague notions about her future, nothing more. Where she resided mostly was on terra firma, in the present, and without uttering one mantra or engaging in anything resembling deep breathing (exceptions: ciggies and bong hits).

Well, it seems taking up meditation 20 years later served to take me to that 20something’s “wisdom” (also known as the as yet non-accumulation of physical and emotional baggage; no, I’m not unzipping it. It’s mostly old boarding passes and “I can squeeze ONE more dollop of lotion” travel-size lotion tubes). Little was in my control whether I knew it or not and I was down with it. I was the most me I’d be for a long time, well, despite all the fucked upped bits trash compacted deep, deep down. I worked, partied, went to school. Lived day to day, not expecting anything but not not expecting anything. The air carried with it the faintest scent of possibility. Lemony, orangey…some citrus fruit.

That me decided to schedule a reunion tour, it seems, and right here in our nation’s capital. This me‘s full of purpose, what feels suspiciously like optimism with a healthy dose of realism swirled in like a chocolate and vanilla soft serve ice cream cone (vegan, obviously; does that exist somewhere ’cause I could go for some right now). And, hello!, it’s autumn of all seasons, one of my two favorites, spring being the other. See the connection (!!) ’cause it just hit me and blew my mind.

Alright, I’ve not adopted a monkish “intentional” celibacy. Something clicked, however, (besides my jaw; any of a number of joints, really) while I breathed slowly, deeply, and mentally repeated a Sanskrit mantra about being an 100% perfect me. And my imagined kinship with the great Zora Neale Hurston grew stronger when I remembered her best quote:

“Sometimes, I feel discriminated against, but it does not make me angry. It merely astonishes me. How can any deny themselves the pleasure of my company? It’s beyond me.”

Lack of communication is unhealthy.

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