Ahhhhhh... Ah!

*sigh*

I just returned from an eleven day spiritual retreat in a monastery nestled among the mountains of Western North Carolina.

I mean... I just got back from soaking in my brother's jacuzzi, listening to Mussgorsky's 'Pictures at an Exhibition' in candlelight, followed by a sumptuous meal at Perkin's Cakes & Steaks.

Well, same thing.

There I sat in the churning, steamy suds, thinking about the Birth of Aphrodite, the goddess of Love. Yeah yeah yeah. You know she emerged from the sea full grown, riding ashore on a clam shell. But y'see, her mother was an immortal (I forget which one), and her father was a sea god. Or maybe a river god. Anyway, in vengence for his having bedded a deity, his sex was cut from him. Out flowed his final, foaming ejaculate, that filled the oceans. And it was from this pearly froth that Love emerged, and was welcomed by the Olympians.

Rich in allegory, no?

And while I was lying there, taking the waters, I summoned my spirit guide, Master Wolf. He hurried thither without delay. It's been a long, long time since I talked to Wolf. He sat behind me, so I couldn't see what form he took. But his voice is always the same.

Huh. Sitting behind me. That means my Spirit Guide was perched on the commode. How homey!

I asked the questions. he gave the answers. To the best of my recollection, here's a recap of our exchange...

Me: I want transformation! I want new! I want me to be new. I want to be taken like clay, molded, given form and shape. I feel so lost. I want to submit to the Great Sir.

Wolf: You know what transformation requires. Patience. Transformation is slow. And it's hard. And it's frightening. It's climbing the mountain, step by step, and inching out onto the precipice, feeling the sharp wind slapping your face, and then jumping off. It doesn't happen quickly.

But that's not coming your way anytime soon. You've found yourself a nice warm mudhole. Haven't you? Nothing like that is going to happen while you're there.

Me: But... but I...

Wolf: And that's fine. Enjoy the warm mudhole. But be there in the mud hole. And don't get stuck there. Here's a secret. That mudhole can either be the waters of baptism, or a quicksand grave. Stay alive. That makes the difference.

Me: I'm looking for someone. I want someone to haul me out of this mudhole. Or to get down in here with me. I'm tired of being alone.

Wolf: All of us are alone always. Remember that. There's no way out of that. You live your life alone.

Me: But is someone out there? Will I find him?

Wolf: Not if you don't do the work to get ready for him. The great traggedy is when he comes, you're not ready, and you send him away. And you know what 'ready' means. You know the work you need to do. You're still playing children's games with men's hearts, aren't you? Hide-and-seek. Marco Polo. Mother May I.

And let me get this straight. You want to be in a relationship? As J.B. Priestley said, "Marriage is a long, dull meal. With dessert served as the first course."

Me: So maybe I'll just stick around for the first course.

But he's out there, right? Or should I just hang up my gloves and give up the ring for the first opportunity that comes along. Open a proverbial sports bar?

Wolf: Out of the mudhole and into a prison. You've tried that before.

Me: But he's out there?

Wolf: Patience, patience. He's out there. Patience. Presence. Work. And enjoy yourself.

Me: I'm Don Quixote, aren't I? Always tilting at windmills, turning them into dragons. They're just guys, after all, those men. The men who are always disappointing me. They're just guys. They neglect clipping their toenails and complain about their jobs and read Judith Krantz novels. But... y'know... there are windmills and there are windmills, right? Just because it's a windmill and not a dragon doesn't mean...


But he was gone. When I start talking, he slips away.

---