The climate is California cliche: the sun is bright, the sky is actually a cloudless blue. The scent of California bay and eucalyptus waft by on a sea breeze. Kids splash inside the pool. Laughter bounces about the courtyard.
From my chair on the balcony I try to extend my senses, to feel some thing, something, but what I’m feeling now.
Pathos.
I am doing my ideal to be present with my body, to know how this pathos feels, not just emotionally, but physically.
Suitable now, pathos feels under-oxygenated. My breath is shorter, faster. It no longer fills my center. My muscles are tight. Twitchy. Restless. My shoulders ride larger, up close to my ears. I feel it in my gut, too, the tightness. An ache has settled in my chest, my eyes. It's a extended list.
That is what anxiousness and anguish feels like in the flesh.
In my head, it feels like getting smaller and afraid inside the face of uncertainty. Trapped. Cut-off. Cornered. I really feel like I must act, have to do something, anything. But what?
And so I remind myself to breathe.
Life is uncertain, and no quantity of resistance to that truth is going to transform Reality. Reality is mutable, transient, turbulent. Unpredictable. And yet, appropriate now, within this moment, it is actually what it truly is.
Accept, my mind says. But my physique betrays emotional resistance.
I figured that my sisters and I would develop old with each other, the 3 of us. The Three Musketeers. I thought we’d be hard-of-hearing old ladies sitting on the back porch swing, laughing till we had to pee, talking concerning the great old days with Grandmother, the wagon rides down the hill in our little red wagon, and riding horses around the mesa in Colorado. I believed we’d go on vacations, bicycle rides for three, and scold grandchildren. Then one sister died in 2008 right after a long illness, and I revised that dream to just the two of us. But today, the likelihood of my infant sister surviving to my age is slim, in no way thoughts to old age. And I really feel. A good deal of issues.
I know we all die. And I know it isn’t anything to be afraid of. I got that, truly got it, when I was holding my grandfather’s hand as he exhaled the last bits of himself two years ago. I recognize the beauty in the life-cycle, the transitory nature of it, the glory of a life well-lived. You could say that I'm at peace with Death.
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But to die young, ah. To drop a person in the prime of life. To watch them hunch in on themselves with discomfort. The discomfort of living. Of breathing. Of being. I can handle it. Watching somebody die from cancer is not a brand new knowledge for me. But I’m not enjoying it. It can be really stressful on absolutely everyone. Specifically my sister.
Underneath it all, I’m sad for me. And for her kids. And for our parents - who may have to cope with out-living one more of their children.
Life is. And rather normally in recent times, life is Pathos.
Eros and Aramis.
Citrus, cinnamon, and sandalwood: the scent of Aramis Cool Blend envelops me as Gabriel’s arms do. I rest my forehead against his shoulder and breathe him into me. He often seems to understand when I’m in that location, that overwhelmed, anxious and impatient spot. He hugs me hard, his arms forming a tight band that pops my back. A welcome release.
“You’re cold,” he murmurs against my ear. “How can you be cold? It is more than 80 degrees out right here.”
“I’ve forgotten warmth,” I mutter back, dispirited and exhausted. And cold. I’ve been sleeping with the electric blanket on. In Summer time.
He measures backward, holding me at arms length. He starts to say some thing, but his eyes are riveted on my breasts. My nipples. Bra-less and cold, my nipples had been currently difficult, but his nearness, the scent of him, have added additional length.
His hand reaches toward my correct breast, thumb grazing the nipple. His touch sparks by means of me, tiny electric arrows racing along my nerve-endings, dissipating the fog of despair wrapped around me like a comforter. I really feel!
Yet another brush of his thumb and I gasp and sway, my eyes closing. So very good. So sweet. Pleasure is so life-affirming.
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He steps nearer, his hand in no way leaving my breast. I can feel the warmth radiating from him. I tilt my face as much as his, eyes closed, like a flower following the sun.My mouth trembles using a sad smile and tears effectively up beneath my eyelids.
“Make enjoy to me,” I ask him. Implore him. “Make me really feel alive.”
He measures about me. Pulls the hair away from my neck and brushes my skin with his shadow. A sharp, hissing intake of my breath. I really feel that! Mmmmm… yes!
His arms encircle me, a single around my shoulders, the other, my midriff. He draws me backwards, off the balcony, and guides me down onto the persian carpet. With feather-light kisses and touches he opens my blouse, exposing my breasts. Are you still feeling lonely because of lack of partner? Don’t worry,
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Additional tears at his gentleness. I want this.
When his mouth closes more than my erect nipple, my complete body vibrates with erotic energy. My pathos subsides beneath a tide of Aramis-scented eros as I surrender to a brand new feeling: I’m alive!
