Just as Psyche raised her lamp, so, too, do I shine the light of my heart to see an other’s soul’s true beauty.
“Love cannot dwell with suspicion.”
So, I had left the above to sit for a few so I could come back to it. Late night thoughts that I wished to save for later. It’s later.
I had been thinking about how Psyche had listened to the misgivings of others and went to her love with a lamp and knife to kill him. They thought he was a monster, but how could they really know, her family and the oracle, since they couldn’t see him? When the light of her lamp revealed the beauty of Cupid, the winged God of Love, she instantly fell in love with him. There are many allegories concerning this story, but the one that resonates with me is that when you see another through eyes of love, you see with true sight. Preconceived ideas of what another person should look like, or their physical representation, fall away. What you’re left with is soul to heart communication enabling you to feel the pure energetic beauty of the being in your presence. This is the meaning behind Namaste to me. The divinity in me recognizes the divinity in you.
As a society, when we forget this connection we have with others, we become suspicious. Suspicion and love are incompatible. That is all.
I’ve never really had a good relationship with Money. We’ve hung out a time or two and partied while the gettin’was good, but nothing really substantial. Mostly, we would find ourselves at odds, with just the barest hint of distrust and a slight animosity.
Today, Money apologized to me. For holding out on me all these years, for being standoffish and unwilling to share more of himself with me in the past.
It was a surprise, to say the least. I had resigned myself for years that he and I would never see eye to eye and that I wouldn’t be able to enjoy the many benefits of such a connected friendship. But now, I feel a soft glow of certainty that things might be a little easier between us. I think we’ll be seeing a lot more of each other from now on.
So, I’m here at the airport to catch a flight down to Seattle and I see these people standing in line to take off their shoes and empty their pockets and present their documents to these blue shirted, blue gloved monkeys. Like cattle. Like sheep. Shuffle along, deposit your belongings in the grey plastic tubs. What a farce. No matter who my traveling companion is, I always manage an audible whisper, “I REMEMBER WHEN WE DIDN’T HAVE TO GO THROUGH ALL OF THIS SECURITY CRAP.” I’m with my daughter Veronica, who is very interested in not attracting attention to herself at any time and any cost.
Today I got felt up by some poor underpaid woman after going through the security checkpoint imager. They insisted that I must have something hidden in my crotch for some reason. Probably because I made certain to proudly point my stubby middle fingers up in the air..like I just don’t care! Except I do, I truly do. And it makes me furious.
Anyways, there was lots of hot girl on girl action at the security checkpoint today, starring yours truly. I was asked if I would like a private room for them to poke around my nethers but I politely declined. Or maybe I said something akin to “Can you just get on with it?”. I’m not going to hide away when the public can get an eyeful of my midriff while I stand in an obliging spread eagle. Fuck them. I roll my eyes at onlookers while my daughter collects our things from the conveyor as her mother provides the spectacle. Fuck them. Blue gloved hands up and down my legs, turn around, up and down and I say, “This is because I flipped off your machine, isn’t it.” Not a question. Put on boots and belt and we’re on our way. I make certain my stubby middle finger is erect as we make our way towards the gates. Not overtly. Just enough for me to feel subversively gleeful as I stalk off with my mortified daughter.
Someone needs to set a good example., and it may as well be me.