Intimacy
I want for nothing in life except intimacy.
I have been blessed in so many ways. There is food on my table and a roof over my head. I am financially secure. I have traveled extensively and have benefited from a wealth of varied and valued experiences and explorations. I have great friends and the freedom to pursue my heart’s desires.
But I yearn for intimacy.
Intimacy is hard to define, but unmistakable when it is experienced. Intimacy pertains to a close familiarity; it’s the expression of our innermost emotions. It is the private sharing of our most personal and essential natures. That is the key…it is a shared experience.
It’s not that I have never experienced intimacy. I have…and still do.
My father and I shared many intimate moments. Intimacy came easily to him. His heart was always open to mine. He and I would sit for hours in leaky rowboats. Ostensibly, we were fishing. In truth, we were basking in each other’s warmth, reveling in the unspoken exchanges of love and fidelity. Year after year, we fished together because we both craved those intimate moments. I have not picked up a rod and reel since his death. I find that I cannot.
My friends and I grow more intimate in direct proportion to the graying of our hair. My friends and I go way back, forty years or more in most cases. A few years ago, my best friend came to visit. We spoke quietly for hours before he revealed that his cancer had returned. He collapsed in my arms, crying, “I am so afraid.” I never loved him more than at that moment. My friends and I keep no secrets from each other. None. We grew up together, molded each other, suffered and celebrated together. We know each other’s faults and failings, no matter how embarrassing or repellant…and we love each other all the more for all that. We have grown truly intimate.
My mother and I were never close, never intimate, until she slipped into the dense fog of Alzheimer’s. Today we sit for hours, hands clasping hands, comforting each other in silence. We have grown intimate, and it is that newly found intimacy that keeps me from screaming at the horror of her drawn-out disintegration.
I have had moments of true intimacy with several women. I remember each instance vividly. It is the intimacy between a man and a woman that I now crave so desperately. To me, the shared love and true intimacy between a man and a woman is as essential as food, water and air. I yearn to share my essential nature, my deepest love, with a woman. I ache to brush her hair, to bathe her when she’s feeling ill, to sit quietly in her presence basking in the glow of complete and unconditional acceptance. To have no secrets, heart and soul open completely to each other, wrapping body into body, sharing breath and warmth, and knowing there will never be another…THAT is my greatest yearning, my deepest ache. I’m not sure I want to…or could…live without it.
I have been blessed in so many ways. There is food on my table and a roof over my head. I am financially secure. I have traveled extensively and have benefited from a wealth of varied and valued experiences and explorations. I have great friends and the freedom to pursue my heart’s desires.
But I yearn for intimacy.
Intimacy is hard to define, but unmistakable when it is experienced. Intimacy pertains to a close familiarity; it’s the expression of our innermost emotions. It is the private sharing of our most personal and essential natures. That is the key…it is a shared experience.
It’s not that I have never experienced intimacy. I have…and still do.
My father and I shared many intimate moments. Intimacy came easily to him. His heart was always open to mine. He and I would sit for hours in leaky rowboats. Ostensibly, we were fishing. In truth, we were basking in each other’s warmth, reveling in the unspoken exchanges of love and fidelity. Year after year, we fished together because we both craved those intimate moments. I have not picked up a rod and reel since his death. I find that I cannot.
My friends and I grow more intimate in direct proportion to the graying of our hair. My friends and I go way back, forty years or more in most cases. A few years ago, my best friend came to visit. We spoke quietly for hours before he revealed that his cancer had returned. He collapsed in my arms, crying, “I am so afraid.” I never loved him more than at that moment. My friends and I keep no secrets from each other. None. We grew up together, molded each other, suffered and celebrated together. We know each other’s faults and failings, no matter how embarrassing or repellant…and we love each other all the more for all that. We have grown truly intimate.
My mother and I were never close, never intimate, until she slipped into the dense fog of Alzheimer’s. Today we sit for hours, hands clasping hands, comforting each other in silence. We have grown intimate, and it is that newly found intimacy that keeps me from screaming at the horror of her drawn-out disintegration.
I have had moments of true intimacy with several women. I remember each instance vividly. It is the intimacy between a man and a woman that I now crave so desperately. To me, the shared love and true intimacy between a man and a woman is as essential as food, water and air. I yearn to share my essential nature, my deepest love, with a woman. I ache to brush her hair, to bathe her when she’s feeling ill, to sit quietly in her presence basking in the glow of complete and unconditional acceptance. To have no secrets, heart and soul open completely to each other, wrapping body into body, sharing breath and warmth, and knowing there will never be another…THAT is my greatest yearning, my deepest ache. I’m not sure I want to…or could…live without it.* * *
posted by Jonas | 12/08/2005 12:24:00 PM
4 Comments:
I think I've experienced intimacy with others, but now, reading this, I'm questioning whether that is a fact or an opinion. Maybe I'm just afraid to admit it right now because I've been hurt so terribly so recently and my mind would rather not acknowledge the loss of that intimacy at this particular point. I have to go think about this further. Thank you.
A wounded heart has a skewed perspective, no? Time and distance surely help.
Yes, time and distance. But even knowing that, we keep trying to close up that distance and hurt ourselves all over again.
How sad that you're still hurting so. As I wrote before, I'm not familiar with your story, having dropped in too late. Despite that, I can see that your wounds are still open, bleeding and hurting. Give yourself time to heal. Don't be surprised if it takes longer than you thought it would, but be assured that you will heal.
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