In the beginning, when the immediate pheromones are wearing off, the maniacal chemistry cools and allows you to return to things like sleep and food and laundry and yourself. And this is the worst because you recognize that the other person will now see you as you are and that means you have to hide or run or surrender. I liken the ravaging burn of surrender to that of re-entry, when the space shuttle is hurtling back into the atmosphere and it absolutely has to go through this fiery quake to get back down to earth.
Ack! That’s what it was like. I was doing cartwheels in the atmosphere and now here’s the terrible fear of being seen and known and loved. I was an exposed mess, my tiny ship in flames. You know he stayed, this man. He saw me and he stayed and we learned how to swim together. All those tides in all those different oceans, we kept going. I kept shedding layers as we went. It became safe to let this person share my raft.
I imagine that any relationship takes a course like that - and care. You can’t just let it lay there, you must laugh and hug and talk and listen. Such a delicate respect. I hope there soon comes a day when everyone who has done this work can celebrate and say, “Look at us, we’ve come this far and now we’ve gotten married. We’re sharing this commitment and this promise with you all!” I hope that everyone who bravely loves can swim along the coastline hand in hand regardless of their gender. Because really, a marriage is a sacred bond we cherish and to say we cannot share that based on gender is the blinding, selfish, hate that separates.
May we all have the right to fly to space with whom we choose, to re-enter and cool and swim and cry and float with our dear loves, and then have equal rights to marry and commit in a public, legal space.
