I want every moment with you to be perfect and am low when I do not live up to such a “reasonable” expectation.
I stand in the midst of us, my mind on what I think I or we should be, instead of simply letting us be.
My humanness, yours, the realities of the world, are the stuff of relationship. What is the rhythm of our bodies?
Earlier, long ago it seems, I said that I must be willing to let you hurt me.
I know now what I mean.
I must be willing to let you, and I, be human, and know that even when you, and I, have the other’s best interest at heart, we will blow it, but in that blowing is the wind of God.
Being real means being loved when I am dull and the places where I have rubbed hard against the world show through and matter to you.
There is rhythm to relationship, moment by moment we discover the pace.
Love is now, is who we are and who we can be, not who we should be.
There is no hurry.
Love is not a race.
Written November 2, 2001