It's all about me...

I have this little four word phrase that I find myself saying over and over again.  It shows up at the most painful of times, it show up at the best of times.  It's a soft little admission that feels so good to type and feels even better saying.

"She's right you know."

So often my better half quietly keeps her truth to herself, while I remonstrate or jump up and down, explaining with vicious and unabashed judgement how "so and so" just judges everyone, or "you can't trust that guy, because all he does is talk behind peoples' backs."  Blind to the simple, beautiful truths.  Blind to my own blowhard, self-seeking bullshit.

And there she sits, quietly letting me make an ever bigger fool out of myself, still loving me, still nodding once in a while at the right moment, careful not to bruise my puffed out feathers or interfere with my "cock of the yard" strut.

But then, when all of my pomp and circumstance has dwindled, and my self important speeches have ended, and all the hot air has been retired from the balloon, she takes a careful breath and very simply, adeptly and honestly lets me know what the fuck.  Not to hurt, but to enlighten.  Not to admonish or belittle, but to expand and teach.

She is a real beauty, a real example of shining love stuff - borne of heaven and delicately stuffed into the physical being of a supermodel.  Sometimes she is a Cree princess, not afraid to rough me up or anybody else for that matter, to make her point.  Her sense of justice is impeccable.  Her views on truth and psychology and philosophy and social contract and empowerment and growth and all that is interesting and real in this world are nearly always bang on true and accurate (I say nearly because to be right all the time would be maddening; I should know!).

She is mother like no other.  A friend to all who need one.  A beacon of truth and gentle compassionate understanding.

And I love her, till this heart beats no more, I love her.  From beyond this mortal coil, I will love her, brush her hair from her face as the wind; caress her cheek as a gentle rain drop; hold her close as a mist, rolling in off the lake.

And for now, I must love her from afar.  Slowly plodding through the baby steps that seem so great.  Through the paces of early recovery.  I want so badly to run to her, to hold her, to be her man instead of her sad broken addict boyfriend.

Patience young feller.  Do a little work young feller.  Get through a day or two, then perhaps a week or two, then maybe a month or two without picking up; without sabotaging your growth, healing or recovery.  Pay a few bills and rebuild some of what you tried so desperately to destroy.

Then, show her some of your moves:




That oughta do it!

I love you baby.
S.