Be patient with me, please. My soul is a tree with parched roots, its branches and leaves inhaling the world around them as they forever reach for the sun.
Okay.
I don't understand my boyfriend.
*furious blush; fights the urge to run away*
Or rather, I am still flabbergasted by how different we are! He's an engineer: all head, all science, balanced by his love for those around him and his uncanny power to transform into a rambunctious five year old at the drop of a hat. I'm...damn, I'm me. A dreamer first and foremost, I've been a writer, an artist, a theatre kid, and a scholar at various points in my life. Beneath all that is a kind of spiritual current that sustains me. When I was Catholic I sat in the stillness of empty churches and talked to the Virgin Mary and God like they were old friends. As my worldview expanded and my Catholicism collapsed, I started casting about for anything that could sustain my need for spirituality and I eventually settled on a vague sort of paganism. I can read tarot, know next to nothing about palmistry (although still love looking at peoples' hands), and every time I see the Moon she takes my breath away. I think of the moon and I think of water, I think of the surf cresting and swelling, breaking her reflection on the sea into thousands liquid jewels.
My boyfriend...not so much. As I type this he's watching yet another engineering video, most of which flies straight over my head. It's...cool. Shiny. Gadgetry. Dry.
Last night was the transit of Venus, the only time in our lifetimes when Earth, Venus, and the Sun will align. With my love for the stars and his love for science, it should have been a perfect connection. It didn't pan out that way, though. While he saw "AWESOME!!!!!" I saw "black dot across big yellow ball". It wasn't until I saw the images from NASA that I understood. But even then, it's still so distant from ME.
I walked downtown along the River Thames today and was thrilled by the little things: baby swans following behind momma swan, momma swan attacking any duck or goose that dared to look at her babies funny; ducklings all fluffy and little (and maybe I had never really seen ducklings up close until then); baby grouse (which I had definitely never seen before); and two ducks sparing over a female. The sun and the wind and everything around me had me singing...
I had a dream last night that, admittedly, was inspired by Jim Carey's movie "The Truman Show" in which Truman's life, from birth onward, has been nothing but a reality TV show. Everyone, from his mother to the milkman, are paid actors in on the secret. Fortunately, my dream was different. Somehow I had been elected to be the star of a theatre production of some sort. Everyone knew about it but me, so when they announced it, people were cheering for me and everyone was happy. There was a pool in the center of the crowd, so I dove in and started swimming like a fish. All I could think was, "I should do this more often". When I got out of the pool, I was walking out with a bunch of girls who were really nice. They were telling me about the antics of the director, Ryan, and how hard he was to work with. But it was okay, because I had been in the same theatre company as Ryan before, so I knew what I was up against. Then the dream ended.
Water. Swimming. In Tarot, the cups are the suit of emotion, represented by water. I'm happiest when I'm swimming in these emotions and feel the world around me, rather than just thinking about it. Swimming in the tides of life, I'm free and peaceful. I have the power to emotionally sustain myself and use the surplus to sustain others.
So our personalities, our basic urges, make this relationship...odd. As an engineer and an utterly British man, he's not one to show his emotions. A slight frustration here, anger there, but a real, honest outburst is rare. I love him, but because he's all air, all gadgetry, all brain, I wonder how to connect with him. I wear my emotions on my sleeve. If I try to hide them, I fail miserably. With him, even grief is shoved away in work or gaming. I don't understand.
In the end, the real issue lies with me. I need to be myself, spirituality, singing, joy, and all. Intellectual passions he is fine with, even artistic endeavors. But when it comes to matters of the spirit is where things stop, for while he doesn't judge me or look down on me for my beliefs, he has no way of understanding. So it gets cut out in me because I have no way of sharing it with him. I think...I think that's how it goes. There is an enormous disconnect there, a disconnect I can sum up with one scene:
Sitting in Starbucks one evening I watched as a seagull fly overhead. Suddenly I said, "I wish I had wings..."
"Why?" he replied. "There's nothing up there."
His response shocked me a bit and I felt stung. "What do you mean?" I asked.
"Well, not until you get out of the Earth's atmosphere and reach space." He said.
I made a feeble attempt to defend myself but I couldn't articulate what actually having wings meant to me: the freedom, the escape, the dream.
But that's us: the dreamer and the engineer. What to do, eh?
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