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Adapting to life without sex ....
Posted:Jul 4, 2020 10:42 pm
Last Updated:Jul 8, 2020 10:04 pm
321 Views

OK, this isn't about sex at .... or is it?

It has been a while since I have posted, but I believe the time has come for me ramble a bit. I have learned, even with COVID, the world continues move forward. I know sometimes it does not feel that way, but it is.

People continue living their lives. Although some of the ground rules might have changed and I suspect more for some than others, our objective remains the same. We want be happy, experience joy, share passions, and be proud of who we are.

Nature still gets up every morning and does what she does best; finds opportunities to make today a success. I live in a place that invites me to be witness to this. I frequently rise before dawn, steal away to the spa, and watch her wake to a new day. As is common for me , I choose follow in her footsteps. I am starting see each day as an opportunity to live in peace, with passion, and with continued hope of joy and fulfillment. The best “me” will not allow circumstances to dampen my spirit, or my appreciation for life.

Perspective is always a good thing. If the direction of the world today is new or unfamiliar, our spiritual selves have an obligation to adapt, find ways to accept change, and live in a manner that feeds our souls. As in the past, our success as individuals will be measured by our achieved level of happiness.
Cheers,
Justin
4 Comments
The Perfect Husband
Posted:May 18, 2020 12:57 am
Last Updated:Jul 5, 2020 10:39 pm
508 Views

My ex-wife always wanted a husband that she could be proud of, but instead she had me. All of her friends were proud of their husbands. They bragged constantly about how John or Max or Henry or Paul had bought them diamonds and cars, invested heavily in the field of breast augmentation, agreed whole heartedly that a massive shoe collection was important, worked 24 hours a day as they traveled across the US for their jobs, and were so perfectly handsome I had a hard time believing they did not have modeling contracts.

Me, on the other hand, didn’t see the value in such things and spent my time appreciating how wonderful my wife was. I never sent my wife away to anything. I enjoyed making magical moments, but solely because every one of them included her. If I did buy her anything, it was only because I wanted to prove the hypothesis that you can’t improve perfection. If I had any redeeming qualities, clearly I kept them to myself.

I was a connoisseur of the little things. Knowing what she liked to eat, and then learning to cook it. Creating and tending a garden to include plants and flowers that sent her paint brush into fits of euphoria. Sensing when she needed space to commune with her artistic soul, and then taking the on a day long adventure. Planning romantic retreats, so that we could share great scenery, ambiance, food, conversation and great sex. With no fanfare, I efficiently took care of my job, family, friends and my well-being. My wife was free to be everything that she dreamed to be. I must have been annoying.

Then one day, her best friend and fellow artist announced that she would be hosting an art show and brunch, to be held in her garden, and would include recent paintings from their all women art club.

The week before the art show was busy. While my wife finished up her artwork and their framing, like an invisible male version of Mary Poppins, I made sure the were well cared for, the household was managed, and I prepared her favorite bacon wrapped scallops smothered in a decadent wine sauce for the party.

On the way to the gathering, my wife carefully prepped me on the men and women that would be attending. They would all be interested in the art, but only as a vehicle to share their wonderful and successful lives. It must have been stressful for my wife; I was obviously not taking this seriously enough.

When we arrived, the art show was already well under way, which seemed odd to me because no one was looking at the art. Clinks of wine glasses, groups of women, groups of men, a football game, I secretly wondered if this could honestly be called a gathering.

A wife can disappear in a moment, and she did. I had met some of the women before, but none of the husbands. The men, and some of the women, were everything they were advertised to be. From the stable of fancy cars outside, to the designer jeans and their very fit bodies, I am sure the men kept separate from the women because all that testosterone in such close proximity to the women would have created an orgy like atmosphere. The men were very considerate to keep their distance in order to avoid a public spectacle.

I usually don’t try to make people like me. That is both a hopeless and thankless task. The best I can ever offer is genuine interest in sharing life’s passions, an inquisitive ear, a bratty repartee, a keenly naive view of the world, and of course the looks and body of a perfect 7. Sadly, I decided I would have to live with any disappointment I may inflict on my caring wife.

I made a pass through the man cave, made some astute comments about the game, got some tokens which entitled me to come back later for my initiation into the man’s club, and then headed back out to the garden, hoping to find someone who wanted to share a conversation.

I was very proud of the scallops; maybe I could find someone who was interested in cooking, or better yet, art. When presented with some witty banter about the success of the art exhibit, the scallops seemed well received. “By the way”, I asked, “are we allowed to look at the paintings?”

I made my way to the groups of paintings, one section for each artist. I decided to leave my wife’s for last, because I was sure I would enjoy them the most. Several of the paintings were very good. Well designed, technically proficient, and all looking very much like, well, like they were supposed to look, flowers and landscapes.

I was looking for any hint in the paintings that said “this is me, I am unique, a one of a kind flower, a landscape to my soul, a ripe piece of fruit, I have meaning”. I was giving up and moving towards my wife’s paintings when I saw a painting isolated from the others, carefully placed against the backdrop of a deep red bougainvillea. It was a watercolor, my favorite type of medium.

This painting was very powerful, bold, and extremely passionate. The picture told a story. The more I looked at it, the more I was drawn in. My mood changed from indifference to interest, and then to what bordered on obsession. There were flowers, not one, but a small party of them, set in lush tropical garden, with a path that lead away from the viewer, towards glimpses of a distant white beach and an inspiring turquoise ocean.

I was studying the painting when I felt a presence next to me, it was our hostess. She saw in my eyes my attraction to the painting. I thought it might be hers. She asked me what I liked about it. “It is a love affair” I said, “it is a yearning for something more”. I started to describe what I saw in the painting, the details, the subtleties, the invitations.

As I spoke, the other women started to gather around me. It was incredible, the more I connected to the story, the more I saw. The more I shared what I saw, the more engaged the women became. We gathered the chairs around the painting. I continued “This is a story about one female flower, a lover, set in a landscape of endless beauty”. The women joined the commentary, becoming swept up, like a bold tropical breeze, in the romance before us. I would extend the story to another dimension, like the groups of masculine and feminine flowers that at first glance seemed to dominate the landscape. But as the story unfolds, become secondary characters to the true love affair in the painting.

Concealed in the painting, behind the expected colors, were shades of colors, not meant to be seen with a clear eye. I shared what I was seeing “close your eyes until you can just barely see the painting, the colors will disappear, follow the values, where does it lead you?” The women all moved closer to me, drawing analogies from their lives to the life on the watercolor. As they began to see the beauty of the humble masculine flower at the entrance to the path, I had a realization.

At times it is difficult to know what goes through a wife’s mind. Especially when she is sitting there, watching her husband innocently charm a small group of artistically pleasing women with his naive view of life. Watching as he somehow connects with them, without talking about jewelry, cars, health spas or perfect bodies. Watching them inch closer so that they can reach out to make flirtatious contact. Hearing them share inviting personal stories about dreams and desires. I imagine the scene might have been very difficult for a wife who would expect a husband to be like other men.

I was a connoisseur of the little things. Without trumpets or fanfare, I excused myself from a very pleasant moment, sure to elevate the wanting ego of any man, and walked across the garden to my waiting wife. Every set of eyes might have been watching me, but the only eyes I saw belonged to my wife. I took her in my arms, pulled her close, gently touched the side of her face, smiled and kissed her. And then I did it again.

I took her hand, and we headed for the front door. The hostess of the event calmly followed after us, knocking over several chairs, tables and even a bottle of wine. “Why are you leaving so soon” she said, “the party is going to get even better later in the evening? Everybody really wants you to stay”.

People always get so distracted by the petty details. What did it matter what time we left? The important thing is that I made it to the art exhibit, learned something, and everyone loved my scallops.
5 Comments
Finding the creative flow ...
Posted:May 14, 2020 11:26 pm
Last Updated:Jul 5, 2020 10:41 pm
624 Views

Navigating passions these days is harder than I anticipated.

Calling and texting family and friends, working remotely with my office piers, visiting chat rooms to talk about art, music, fly-fishing, or even sex, just doesn't provide the same spark as a face to face, intimate conversation.

I realize now that so much of the joy I get from sharing my passions with others, is more about the glimmer in their eyes, the excitement in their voices, or their body language, than the topic itself. I miss people.

Passion is about love. It is the undeniable desire to immerse ourselves into a state of being that electrifies every part of our body, stimulates our minds, soothes our souls, and unlocks our access to the flow of universal creative energy. With passion, the possibilities are endless.

My grandfather led a very joyful life. When I asked him how he was able to live in this light, his answer was simple. Find what brings you joy, find what makes you smile, find what energizes your life. This is passion. Follow it, share it, appreciate it in others. Passion is what makes us interesting, passion is what gives our lives meaning. Have faith that when you live your passions, you will meet and connect with like minded people. Welcome and embrace them. The possibilities are endless.

So here I sit in my bed, it is already close to tomorrow. I have shared my truth. I have shared my desires. I would like to see it in your eyes, but for now, honest words will have to do.

Cheers

Justin
2 Comments

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