Tag Archives: Romantic love

Antierra Manifesto – blog post #25

[begin blog post #24]

When I come to, and I must admit I’m surprised they didn’t just kill me for the satisfaction of the crowd out there in the arena, I’m lying on a flat, hard surface and what I first see are the faces of the doctor and Deirdre staring at me.  At first I think I’m having a PDE (Post Death Encounter) of latent images.  Then I hear them talking and I pick up a whiff of disinfectant.  I’m truly still alive!

The room I’m in looks strange by any standard.  The ceiling is low, curved and full of recessed lights.  At my feet are pulsing blue-green lights around an opening that resembles an ancient short-range shuttle auto-medic.  I’m wrapped tightly in some kind of tensor bandage with only parts of my face showing.  I detect a familiar humming sound.  And I realize, almost ecstatically, that for the first time in months I feel no physical pain beyond a slight throbbing at the temples.  What a blessed relief!

“Do you recognize where you are?” the doctor asks me.  His voice comes from a great distance and moves in and out.  But I understand him.

“No sir.” I reply, my voice weak and throaty.  I realize my throat is parched and motion with my mouth.  Deirdre brings me a pink coloured drink in a clear crystal-like goblet with a folding tube from which I suck the liquid.  After she removes it, she applies a wet cloth to my lips, removes it and kisses me!  The witch!  Tears form in my eyes.  How good it is to be alive at this moment!  And loved.

And I continue answering the doctor, “But I should know.  Those lights and sound are those of an auto-medic unit as used on ancient short range crafts we called Jump Scouts, the kind used by the United Treaty Worlds.”

“I don’t know anything about United Treaty Worlds but you are correct, this is from an alien spacecraft, yes, we have ascertained that.  But we are not in space, just a few yards from my room.  This medical unit was obviously cannibalized from an abandoned or disabled alien space craft perhaps hundreds of years ago.  It was entombed here, we do not know by whom, nor why it is here but it has been used by my people as com center, first aid medic facility and safe house on many occasions since we have been studying this world. 

“That we know, no one else on this world besides the three of us here and the Cydroids you saw previously know of this facility.”

Cydroids?  Ah, he probably means the androids.  Of course!  A beep sounds and the lights by my feet at the opening into the auto-medic change from a pulsing blue to a steady red.  The doctor consults his watch-chrono.

“It’s time again.  I’m going to send you into the auto-medic for a deeper scan and some preliminary bone repair.  You will be returned in thirty-five minutes for my inspection.  Meanwhile I must decide what to do with your friend Deirdre.”

“Please don’t hurt her!”  I try to scream as the stretcher I am strapped upon retracts into the glowing tube.  The end seals itself shut just behind my head and white noise or white light or both, fill my brain.

In a moment of timeless eternity I awaken once more in the land of the living.  I’m no longer in bandages but still lying on the retractable “gurney”.  Deirdre helps me up and the doctor actually hands me a gown.  It’s been so long since I wore any clothing, I’m almost embarrassed to put it on, as if wearing clothes is committing an act of indecency.  Deirdre is also wearing a short black dress and sports a comical perplexed expression as she fingers the flimsy material as if she wanted to tear it off of herself.  She has never worn a dress, or any kind of clothing in her entire life!  It would seem strange, indeed.  To her it must seem as if she were attired as a male.

She does not seem hurt in any way and with my full senses returned I know she is not hurt.  In fact I sense some kind of new energy from her.  I know the doctor has made love to her – I can smell it on her – and I know that she has made a deep impression upon him with her sexual skills and empathic personality.  He likes her and I like the connection made thus, a connection that I plan to use in time, in whatever time I am given.

After I sit at the doctor’s small table Deirdre serves me some food concoction that tastes beyond delicious, whatever it is, on a real plate and with utensils!

Here I am, sitting at a table, eating with cutlery, not wolfing coarse food down with hands and fingers from a bowl.  I’m wearing clothes, my body clean and free of physical pain and putting my hand to my hair, I feel that it has been washed and cut into a pageboy style.  Deirdre again.  My sweet lover cuddles against me and the man whom I’d feared, sitting across from the small fibresteel table watching me, is now most certainly my life saver.  And a fleeting smile plays across his beautiful face. 

We used to say, ‘wonders never cease’ and indeed it’s true.  They never do.  We go through life after life, experiencing the flow of the All-Thing and we are forever renewed by being pushed into new experiences by choices made by others, or choose our paths through our own creative thinking.  The best is when all of it works in harmony, but that is a rare thing.   

The doctor looks at me and smiles.  “You are truly a beautiful woman when you take care of yourself now huh!?”  Question?  Statement?  A joke?  Yes, my doctor makes a joke and the smile returns.  This man is full of surprises.

Daringly I ask him, “How do you know the girl’s actual name, doctor?”

“She came to me feigning a knee injury while you were in the fight.  She told me everything you and she talked about.  She told me about the name-giving rite you performed with her and said you needed to speak to me, which suited me fine because I need to speak to you also.  And she was emphatic in claiming that you would need my full attention when the fight was over because you would be mortally wounded.  She knew!  When I asked her how she could know this she just shrugged and told me she couldn’t say.

“But then I figured it out, of course.  This creature is a throw-back, a Cholradil.  She possesses the mind-set of an ancient race that inhabited these parts around a hundred thousand years ago, according to old writings.  I got that impression when I touched her body looking for the knee injury.  It is said that their responses to touch is somewhat like contacting a static charge.”

I look him straight in the eyes and let mine convey the thoughts in my mind.  ‘I owe you for not punishing the girl and I owe you the debt of life also,’ I think as I stare into his broad face, now more beautiful than ever to me, ‘yet I have a terrible favour to ask of you and must risk your anger once more.’  There is a quizzical look on his face.  He knows I’m speaking to him but cannot understand.  He is not telepathic, or if he is, he uses a different thought patterning.  It’ll have to be openly verbal then.

The time has arrived for real questions and real answers.  Now I must know; this charade between us must end.  

[end blog post #24]

Antierra Manifesto – blog post #21

begin blog post #21]

“But love becomes a terrible burden for you when I fight in the arena and you know I may die there, or at the very least will return in pain; or it will be for me when the men come for you to have sex with you and I cannot protect you if they decide to savage you.  That is what love is and what it does.  It is basically a very selfish feeling.  People who love each other can often do terrible things to protect that love.  They can even kill the person they love if they think that person no longer loves them and wishes to be with another.  Do you understand that?”

“I don’t know.  It’s strange to hear you say that.  I always thought that to find someone to love, or to have someone love you, would be the most wonderful thing that could ever happen.  And I found you.  I was completely happy with this until now.  Now I don’t know what to think.  I know I love you but that is  wrong now?”

“No it is certainly not wrong.  But let me try to explain it some more.”  She makes to interrupt for another explanation but I stop her for this lesson is critical.

“Wait, just listen and let me continue.  I must explain something very deep, something most people still do not know.  Compassion is when you choose – of your own free will – to feel other peoples’ pain (or pleasure, let’s not overlook that) over your own, or if you are really good at it you blend your own with theirs.   That new feeling that you get from this blending I call sorrow and also joy, understand?  Sorrow and joy are truly experienced only by the totally selfless; by those who care about others before they will care about their own needs.  To the compassionate, the personal pain burden is taken care of as well, inseparable from the greater pain.  So, if you follow, compassion is greater than love because love needs to care about someone special to work, at least in every form I’ve ever seen it.  Compassion is achieved only through complete detachment.

“You and I, for example, cannot have compassion for one-another because we love each other.  Compassion is infinite in scope, and always soft and gentle, regardless of the cruelty of outer circumstances.  Too often, love is terribly jealous; it can be very demanding and even become violent — even while it smiles at you and desires you.  Love has many faces or I could say, there are many different types of love.  You can love anyone you want, as many people as you choose, but you won’t be able to love them the same way you love me.  That’s the difference between love and compassion.  Compassion does not need to ask, or choose, or analyze feelings for it is all to all as the need arises or is demonstrated.  Compassion is not determined by the way you feel about people or things. Love is in every case, a feeling. Compassion is a force.”

Of the many things I could write now about the child-woman I named Deirdre, I could focus particularly on her intelligence.  She analyzes everything, questions and ponders.  She looks into concepts to see at which point they make sense to her.  If they do not, she won’t accept them.  So in time I begin to feel quite safe in expounding my understanding of the cosmos to her because I no longer fear brainwashing her.  She is wary and she questions.  I also learned that she knows when not to speak to others of the things she knows.  She understands the need to keep certain mysteries to herself, or an inner circle which at this time comprises, I must assume, she and I.

“Yes, I can feel the truth of what you say.” she says slowly,  “I will think about it.  So what I have for you is love, but what I am with you is more, I think.  I believe some of the stories you’ve told me, for example.  I feel that I am not just a body they will cut up” – she touches a scar under my right breast – “but a living person with a life that goes on forever.  Yes, I believe that.  My name tells me it’s true.  But my name also tells me that I am ready to die Antierra.  I know now it does not end here.”

And just like that, hearing her speak so softly with her sweet young voice, hearing her assurance of life beyond these walls, I find my connection to my higher “self” again.  My despair and spiritual deadness lift from me.  I look at her, all of her, and I find myself inside her mind.  And what do I find there?  Beauty.  Grace.  Peace.  Comfort.  Gentleness.  Courage.  Assurance.  Certainty and a strength to match and to hold it all together.  How do I recognize these things in her?  I’m not sure how unless I am re-awakening some of my discarded Avatari powers.

And I am certain that nothing these people do can ever take those treasures from her heart-mind.  She has the strength of womanhood refined in the hottest of forges: deep pain and suffering that goes beyond what others experience here.  But more than that, she possesses an ancient, primitive spirit power.  Some mystery I would certainly want to probe but will probably not, out of respect, but mostly because of the greater risk of exposing her to disempowerment.

Our whispered conversation reminds me of an Old Earth story about a millipede who was happily moving along, all his little feet working in prefect unison.  Then a squirrel happened along, watched the happy millipede walk by and said, “Say, which foot comes before which?”  And the poor millipede stopped, looked at his feet and became so confused he never took another step.  So he died.  Some mysteries should be left as is, like magic.  Once it’s understood, it dies.  Of course, one must always remain open to the possibility that the mystery will simply reveal itself in its own time.  When the time comes she will reveal more of herself to me, no doubt.

In the pale light of the “dark sun” coming through the openings above us, we make love as only two people who love each other, can.  I cannot describe what takes place between us – it is beyond anything I’ve ever experienced, and at this point I have experienced quite a lot.  She is no longer my child but fully, completely, my lover, and I hers.  We belong to each other ’til death do us part.  As we know it will soon enough.

How did we ever manage to keep quiet during our encounter?  I thought the very stone walls were going to explode or we would both be dead from the guards’ reaction…

Dead… And free!

[end blog post #21]

Antierra Manifesto – blog post #20

[begin blog post #20]

Chapter 10 – Deirdre of the Sorrows

The heroine of a tragic Irish legend. Deirdre, the betrothed of the king of Ulster, eloped with one of the three sons of Uisneach. All three sons were slain by the king and his henchmen while Deirdre was unharmed and left to mourn them. Two well known writers have based works upon this legend – William Butler Yeats in “Deirdre”, and J. M. Synge in “Deirdre of the Sorrows”.

“I baptize you Deirdre of the Sorrows,” I say as the rich blood follows the creases in her forehead.

“Strange name,” she says.  “Deirdre…  I have a name!”

She says it so loud, I have to put my hand over her mouth, leaving blood all over her face.

“Shhhh you idiot.  Yes, you have a name.  You are the richest young woman in the kingdom of Tassard now.  How do you like that?”

“It is good.  But what does the last part of it mean?    Of the Sorrows, is that also my name?”

“The name belonged to a young woman in a story from a land I knew a long, long time ago on another world.  Deirdre was a young girl chosen to be the bride of a powerful king.  But she loved another man, a  younger one, and she escaped with him and his two brothers.  But the king found them and killed her lover, his brothers and all the other men who had helped her or had ever looked upon her with love.  Then he let her live in her permanent mourning.  She never had another lover, never married, living and dying in sorrow for what her beauty and desire had done to others. 

“She was a heart breaker, but she inherited the heartbreak, you see?  What we do to others often returns to us.  And now because you love me you must share in my sorrows, not just in the pain we all must endure because of how things are here, but specifically in the suffering of heart our relationship is going to entail for you and me.”

“I don’t understand.”  She shrugs and shakes her head, her hair having been allowed to grow longer, brushing over my shoulder. 

I try to explain: “As I have told you, I was not born here, Deirdre.  I came here, full grown some years ago.  I remember coming here with a single-minded purpose: to collect information about this world, store it in my mind and take that back with me to my home world.  It has been my hope that in time, somehow, I may be able to help the women of Malefactus (it’s what I call this place) by creating change in the power structure that keeps things as they are.  If I can do that, and if some of the women here catch some of my vision also we can create beautiful change here, not just for the women you must understand, but for the men also.

“Remember this: it is not normal for men to kill women.  It is not normal that women should be the slaves of men.  All the things done that hurt others, these are evil things.  Evil destroys worlds.  On another world which is called Earth and where I had many lives before this one I saw much evil too.  When people like me see evil being done to others we experience much sorrow of heart.  

“On that world, the people practiced slavery also, for a long, long time, and in some places it was still going on when I left, though it was not called that.  They did many other terrible things that made their world in every way as evil and as abhorrent at this one.  They made people starve to death if there was money to be made in it.  Babies died along with their mothers, tens of thousands each day and very few of the people cared.  Young women, often just little girls, were sold into prostitution, as sex slaves to men, just as they are here.  Instead of chains, men used drugs and money to hold them.  Millions over the years were abused, their lives destroyed and many were killed, or killed themselves in despair.  Many more died of terrible diseases that continually plagued the people of Earth because they refused to understand the cause of it all.

“They tortured and killed millions of people for having different skin colour, or for believing different things.  Many of their great religions (that is to believe in spirit beings like gods or goddesses) were ruled by male gods who hated women.  There were times when women were killed by having stones thrown at them or they were burned alive, tied to a post because men were convinced these women were evil creatures, in league with a great enemy they called Satan or Shaitan.”

Even this child of Malefactus, with all the evil she had already known, gasped at the images my words gave her.  I had never thought of Earth as having such a similar, if more diversified and creative path of evil, to Malefactus.  Or perhaps I had seen, but never actually understood the depths of it.  It is hard to see the evil of one’s society when born and raised in it; when programmed to take it all for granted for as they say here: it is the way of it. 

I continued to explain.  “Things were done to their planet that hurt the air and the water; the animals and the fish and billions of creatures, of non-human lives died, often entire species were destroyed.  Poisons were spread by machines.  There were always diseases and they fought wars all the time.    There never was a time when there was no war being fought.  I am not speaking of the small groups of men who rampage through a countryside and fight each other for honour or slaves.  I am talking of wars that burned entire cities to the ground, poisoned lands and waters and killed everything in their path; when one bomb would leave millions dead or dying in horrible circumstances.

“Earthians killed others in the name of their gods but it always was to take their lands or any goods or valuable thing they had.  But even through those horrors the people never learned because in those days they were able to make more people than they could kill.  So the deaths, you see, did not seem so obvious.  It was as if they did not really happen.  The people of Earth could not feel the pain they caused others. 

“Not being able to feel the pain of another: that was the main problem of Earth just as it is here.

“You see Deirdre, on my home world which is called Altaria, we know there is one Great Law, written in the starry heavens for all the people when they evolve and become like us, having a concept of right and wrong doing.  That Law says they have to care, Deirdre.  They have to care what happens to you and me.  They have to wish that only good happens to others.  Even if it means that they will lose something.  Even if it means they must forfeit their own life!   If they do not care; if their life, their personal pleasures, their riches and immediate comforts, are more important that the well-being of others anywhere, but particularly on their home planet, then they have failed in their attempt at evolving.  They reach a certain place but can go no higher.  They turn in on themselves and begin a tumble towards destruction that increases exponentially year by year.  Each day their death, and that of their world, approaches at a faster rate.  That was the sickness of my adoptive Earth world.

All the evil I have experienced of life on Earth that was then my sorrow and it continues to be.”

Her questions indicate she is a sharp listener.  She says, “You speak as if that world is gone.  Or are the people better now?  Did they learn to care, to feel each other as you and I feel each other?” 

She hugs me tightly as she says it.  She is a true healer-witch and has the gift of knowing.  Her touch is a balm to body and heart.  She wants the pain I feel in speaking of Earth to go away. 

“No Deirdre, that world is not completely gone.  It is going through a terrible purging.  Billions of people have died and the population has dwindled to a fraction of what it used to be.  Everybody that is still alive must now struggle just to eat or to find shelter.  Everything hangs in a very precarious balance.  Some of it has to do with you and me here, now.  We are involved in a great project by billions of individuals from all human worlds to awaken the next level in our evolution – a non-predatory, non-violent way for all of us.”

“What is a billion?”  She asks with a truly puzzled expression I can just make out as Albaral passes by one of our “windows” in the high walls.

How can I explain the chaotic madness of the teeming billions of Túat Har?  I try the simple approach.  “A very, very large number, like grains of sand in a full feeding bowl.  Actually, if you understand what a million is, there are a thousand of them in a billion.”

“That’s so many, so terrible.  So terrible!”  She shuddres violently against me as she says this.  “But why do they need shelter?  Are they trying to hide from something?”

“Earth is a cruel world in its natural cycles Deirdre.  It does not care about human people.  It has great changes of weather in what are called seasons.  Summer is hot and dry in many places and winter is very cold in other places.  In between are other seasons that have unpredictable weather patterns.  People can quickly die from exposure to the natural elements there.  They have to have places where they can keep warm and dry; protect their bodies from the winds, the snows, the rains or just the freezing cold; where they can raise their children from predators – human or animal – and store food.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”   She looks utterly perplexed and there are tears in her big round black eyes.  “This place makes more sense to me than the Earth you speak of!”

“I know you don’t understand sweet.  I’ll find some way to explain it all to you.  Just give me some time.  Or maybe I’ll find some way for you to discover these things on your own.  Be patient.

“Now Deirdre, we were speaking of sorrows.  To know sorrow is to be able to feel by choice the pain of others before your own.  It comes from being compassionate.  It is not something you naturally feel, Deirdre.  It’s something you choose to feel, out of your own heart, something that desires only good things for all people, all things, not just for some who are special.

“Is that not what love is?”

“No sweet.  Do not mistake compassion for love.  Those who do can become very confused about their feelings when the feelings change and they no longer push toward what they know is right.  Love is that special feeling you and I have for each other that we cannot have for others, see?  No one else can share in our bonding.  That is love.  It is what I call an exclusive feeling.  It keeps others out so we can have more of it between the two of us.  It is a good thing for us when we are safe, not threatened, and we share our time alone together.  When no one else wants to take one of us from the other to have her.  When everyone understands our need to be together and gives us our place out of respect.

[end blog post #20]

Take me Home, Lon

(short story – by Sha’Tara)

“Take me home, Lon!” She leaned heavily upon his arm though to him she seemed as light as an autumn leaf landed on his shoulder.

He looked tenderly upon his Lalika and in her gray hairs he read the story of their times together, times he knew were about to end. He knew also she was blissfully unaware of all that had befallen them, and their little world, in the last few weeks.

How does one face total disaster? If one remains alone in a destroyed world and a landscape reminiscent of a Dante’s inferno? That’s one thing. If there remains one truly loved one to cling to, or to care for? That’s another.

When the house burned; when the children and grand children died one after the other in screaming agony, Lalika had done all she could to ease their pain. When it was over she’d stood at the edge of the blackened skeleton that had been their home and simply shut down. She had turned to Lon, smiled sweetly and said, “Of course I’ll marry you, Lon. Why have you waited so long to ask me?”

Though she still recognized him, Lon knew he’d lost her. Her sorrow had captured her, heart and soul; stolen her human reality. She was gone into the world of the gossies, a ghost of times past. No future would be available for her to walk into. That was the price she had to pay at the end for having defied the gods and chosen a life of bliss in true love for herself instead of the expectation and the demand made of her, to serve the temple gods.

“You are cursed, Lalika, for chosing a man over the gods! In the end, all that you wanted; all that you lived for will be taken from you. All, even your memories; all that means anything to any living being. You will wander alone and haunted in the worlds of the gossies! You will have no voice, you will sing no song forevermore!”

Thus had the prophetess screamed at her as she had exited the temple for the last time to join her lover by the great River, running, smiling and jumping, lightly as a doe, into his wide fisherman’s canoe, to let him take her away from her family, friends and everything she had known.

“Take me home, Lon.”

She had never looked back, never once uttered a sigh of reget if she ever thought about her life in Barnard town. She lived with Lon, for Lon, in a fisherfolk shack on the edge of the great River. The children were born there, raised there, and married in turn. The grandchildren had come there to play and listen to their grandmother’s stories. There had been much laughter, some sadness, as when little Del drowned or when the fishing had been poor and food scarce. It was life and she accepted that.

Today, she accepted the inevitable by closing down the future. She would live in her happy past, forevermore. Lon would always be there with his cedar canoe. She would always be laughing with him, then with the children and their children. She would play the recording of her life, over and over and never get tired or bored.

“Take me home, Lon!”

Perhaps, why Romantic Love Fails

{a change of topic, though perhaps not so alien to my usual posts in meaning.  Think: self-empowerment… again or at least, serious choice.}

The title, then, is:  “Perhaps, why Romantic Love Fails”  and let’s be generous and add “most of the time, not always, not automatically.”  

Bracing myself here, this should, or could, bring “romantic love” experts out of the woodwork to offer their own experiences, or beliefs, to praise or castigate, and all of that is totally fine by me.

 “Oh love me, love me, love me, love me, love me, love me, love me, love me. I’ll be anybody you want me to be.” — Chuck Palahniuk, Invisible Monsters.

Imagine the amount of energy it takes to keep this up, to be “anything you want me to be” to someone, just for the fleeting sensual moment of feeling loved. Who then is really being loved when the ploy works? The pretender, the imitator, the parrot, the ghost: an elaborate illusion.  Not me, not the real me, just the character played by the actress. 

Any wonder romantic love so often fails?  

He isn’t loving me, he’s loving the pretence I serve him from morning ‘til night and the moment I can no longer sustain the illusion, he loses interest and perhaps rightfully, blames me for his disinterest.

“You’ve changed,” he’ll say. And right he is. Under the pressure of time and expectations, I gradually drop the illusion with which I ensnared him and I become myself, someone he’d never had a chance to get to know.

Perhaps if I hadn’t been so eager to “get him” and satisfy my longing by serving him with an illusion?

Perhaps if I had had the wisdom to look into the future to those times and event when I could see the illusion would be unsustainable; perhaps if I’d been courageous enough to show him who I really was, he may have loved me for myself, and we might have had something more than a staged performance…

Perhaps, and that’s the saddest realization of all, if he’d seen the real me he may have loved me for myself and never experienced disillusionment.  

Perhaps, like so many in my situation, I’ve been an idiot, turning myself out as a zip-lock bag of bait instead of the solid full meal deal I could have been; that I really was.

Perhaps, but perhaps is a lot like “if” and as Roger Whittaker sang, “No, I don’t believe in if anymore, if’s an illusion, if’s an illusion!”

So, I let the illusion go and live alone.  It’s not so bad once you get used to it and you have a few friends who don’t live in expectations of you pulling rabbits out of fancy hats.  Also, I must admit, love, however ephemeral, did have its compensations.  I had some really good times.  

I choose to remember the good loving times.  As to the separations, and I’ve known a few, the first was extremely bitter, then each one after that became easier, more natural, rather expected.  The thing about us is, we can get used to anything, even learning to enjoy experiences that at the outset appear unthinkable and disastrous.  

Looking back and thinking, if I were a few decades younger, would I fall in love again? Oh yes, definitely, for a great evening of being taken out to dinner, dancing, or the opera; for a night of pure heedless bliss with or without a full moon, and a sweet goodbye in the morning.  

Oh yes, I would fall in love… and fall in love… and fall in love… and make each fall redemptive.  In between, I would live alone in a world that is all mine.