Hi sweetheart, back from my date, which was nice as walks go -- but no chemistry, and so was cut short. It's funny, because it seemed that he & I had tons of chemistry & connection in writing -- but no energy-exchange in person. It's too bad. I wonder if it's a hazard of the trade of writers, especially those with imagination and a romantic nature. The corporeal -- the reality behind the charmed illusion of the flickering, lively, lyrical words on a screen - is almost bound to disappoint. Because how could the corporeal match, let alone exceed such beauty? It's okay, I feel a little sad about it - just in the "hopes dashed" department, but truly I didn't feel it either. Not, for example, the way I'd felt it with you that Christmas Day. Or even the frisson I felt on Jan. 2 with that guy at ShopRite (I stopped there in a desultory way on the offchance this afternoon on my way home -- no of course he wasn't there). Ah well, I have another chance in a couple of days, a morning coffee date. It may be an interesting contrast in experiences. Because with this one -- we've hardly communicated at all, whatsoever, except for very to-the-point messages about whens & wheres of our meeting. No details whatsoever. Which -- after today's rather deflating experience -- might be to our mutual advantage. If I'm a siren online --- well, he isn't expecting one in person, because he has no idea that I'm a siren online.
I wish I could have hit it off better with Mr. R. today. He is nice, and working on an interesting project, and expressed need for companionship, so that his task might be less lonely, go smoother maybe. And the Cunegonde in me felt rather warm to that scenario. I figured I could work on my own writing, in some fashion, as well as roast chicken & set out composed salads for lunch.
What is it about chemistry? What a very strange species we are. All of us, forever so lonesome, forever searching -- and yet -- it's so hard to connect. Not hard to connect on some levels -- he had said that after his separation there was plenty of 'partying' (but of course, not in the slightest bit surprising) - but when it comes to trying to find the goose to companionably (and richly) settle down with for the rest of one's life -- the word "elusive" hardly covers the difficulty of it.
Oh well. I wish him well. He was nice, I'm nice. We tried. It was a beautiful walk along a sylvan rail trail, a parade of dogwalkers and their various beautiful leashed pets -- a veritable red-carpet fashion parade of them, my date even stopping on one occasion, to "interview" and comment upon two hugely adorable stuffed toys of brother-sister tiny dogs, owned now by separate owners (related women), out now together on a play date, the two puppies affectionately nuzzling, as if recognizing their mutual origins seven months previous...
Besides that, you may be wondering how the church service went with my organ-playing -- in short, great. I mean, I'm no virtuosic player, but no matter -- just the beauty and drama and color of having live organ music in the church - and I tried to play "with feeling" -- I know that I enjoyed myself, and I received many compliments from parishioners afterward. The point I'm trying to make, really, is not that I was "on" and it was a "performance," but simply that having live music added a wonderful element that served to enhance otherwise wholly lively and highly engaging proceedings.
It's funny darling -- was that you overnight, landing on my blog with "Slavic blessing", an image of -- well, not me? Because today, at the service, there was a Slavic Blessing of sorts, a very interesting experience for me personally, to not only bear witness to, but to participate in. You see, the guest clergyman is renowned (if that's the word I seek) for his gift of healing -- or that's what he focuses on in his ministry -- and he himself has survived, come back from the very brink, extreme near-death experiences, between wartime gunshot wounds, and, more recently, a devastating viral infection.
So at the service today, at which he preached - by turns charismatically, jollily, but making quite incisive points as well (seemingly "sideways")- there was a young woman there, seated by herself in a front pew (quite near me, since I was at the front of the church seated at the organ). She was there because this was formally a "healing service." And so the clergyman, at a given moment in the service, explained the young woman's situation -- that she has traveled from the Ukraine, been diagnosed with breast cancer, and was here this morning (in tandem with the protocols of her medical treatment), for spiritual healing. And so we - individuals closest to her physically in the church - each stood and laid hands on her, simply touched her. I had arisen from the organ when the clergyman summoned us all around her, and I stood behind her, and raised my palm and placed it lightly on her back, near her shoulder. And the clergyman was standing next to me, and he placed his left palm on her back, and his and my fingers ever so lightly touched. I might have ordinarily, reflexively, moved my thumb, to deflect the lightest strange touching -- but I didn't, I held fast, and more to the point, to the task, which was to simply keep my hand placed on the young woman's shoulder, and there were other hands, single hands, on her besides, a small circle around her -- and those who couldn't touch her directly, were touching someone in their own close proximity -- and so from the front of the church where a small nucleus touching stood, down the aisle stood the rest of the parishioners, all in some fashion -- touching, connecting.
And we stood there for what seemed like minutes & minutes, motionless, simply touching, while the clergyman spoke prayers for her health. And then a moment came when we all quietly withdrew our hands from touching her corporeality, but still stood motionless about her. And the clergyman requested of her, as he placed his hands gently on her small shoulders, to turn slowly around in place, do a "three-sixty", as he put it, and to look into the eyes of each person who had so stood there and touched her. And she did, she turned and looked into the eyes of first one woman who looked at her kindly, then another, next to me, who did the same, and then she came to me, and looked into my eyes and I into hers and I said "be well." And she nodded and that was that, it was back to the clergyman, and then the exercise, or moment, (I don't know the right word) was about over, and I returned to my seat at the organ, slipped along the wood bench to arrange myself at the manuals, playing the pedals in my stocking feet because I realized that the low heels I had worn to church didn't work, I couldn't feel the pedals...
I can hardly remember the order of the service now -- but not long after, it was time for the "Peace," when parishioners rise and purposefully mingle among one another in the aisle and shake hands. And there was the young woman - or maybe not so young, I don't mean teens or twenties, no - more like thirties or young forties. And I'm really not a touchy-feely, hugging kind of person at all normally, not with strangers, and almost especially not in situations where I - or one - is almost expected to be especially expressive of hugs, bonhomie --- oh I hate, just absolutely cannot bring myself to express such expressions if I don't feel them.
But it was the moment of "peace" (I'd slipped my feet back into my pumps and clambered off the wood bench). And there was the young woman, and she had piercing blue eyes -- blue eyes of a Slavic sort that I recognize -- and she smiled at me, and I smiled at her, and do you know -- she & I fell into each other's arms, and I gave her the most heartfelt embrace & hug, as though --- no the R would admonish me, not 'as though' -- but because -- there was a connection there --
At the end of the walk this afternoon, came the moment of truth - he and I, bored, unconnected, cordially wished each other well, shook hands, and parted company
all my love, dearest
I am very very glad to be back with you here tonight