I’m trying to figure out what led up to this. Like a lost wanderer who had carelessly not been paying attention during his entire journey, I’m at my unknown destination and trying to look back and figure out how I got here. I must have been distracted then... but it can’t possibly be anywhere close to how distracted I am now, now that I want to concentrate... of course. But that’s just my luck you see.

The sheets below me are soft and cool, and my fingers are so tightly gripping them that the knuckles turn white. I pant for breath in between the desperate sounds that escape my lips, my hair, damp from sweat, getting into my eyes and making them itch slightly. The ever-present warm arms around me tighten, trembling lips planting sporadic kisses on my neck, my face, and finally pressing against my own, each kiss cut off prematurely by our need for air. The same overly gentle hands with which I have become so familiar run up and down my body in caresses, eliciting shivers that run through my spine like fire.

It’s really unlike me to be this way, so trusting during intimacy. Most of the time I found it more difficult, the good old social phobia kicking in as my mind started rushing rapid thoughts into my head:

Be careful! Run away! This isn’t safe! What if he decides to harm you? No one is around to help you!

In order to simply relax and let things happen, I’d have to focus hard, try to push the invading paranoia away. Why I feel that way I don’t even know, nothing has ever affected me in a way that should make me fearful of being close, this close, to another person.

Physical lust driving us wild, he is starting to forget to handle me like I were so easily breakable... not that I mind somewhat rougher treatment to some degree. He nips at the skin of my throat, the unexpected sensation causing in me an arching of my back and a loud, impassioned cry. Ever the scientist using the famed method, he continues in this behavior, the same process he has used the whole time, testing me, trying me, and making tiny discoveries of what gets the best responses versus what gets none or even a negative one.

Perhaps the reason that the usual paranoia is not attempting to take over my mind is because it has been replaced.

Guilt. Toward myself... I have betrayed my own way of life, haven’t I?

This is not Right View. This is not Right Intention. This is not Right Action. This is not right.

---

“I should probably go home.”

“So early?”

I lower my head, zipping up the front of my jacket. I try to hide the tears slowly forming in my eyes.

Jean-Jacques is all too familiar with the signs that I am hiding my distress, and securing the knot of his robe, he approaches from behind me, his hand, tender towards me once more, resting on my shoulder. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

Rotating my shoulder in an effort to throw off his hand, he didn’t fight me, simply let his arm fall to his side. I didn’t have to see his eyes to know they had that darkened, confused look to them, like a puppy that doesn’t quite know what it’s being punished for. “I’m okay. My roommate will be worried.” More than worried.

“It isn’t me, is it? I mean... I thought... I-I thought you wanted that too...”

I sigh. “I did. It’s not you... I’m just a little distracted. I’ve been working too hard, I suppose.”

This seems to assure Jean-Jacques enough that he wraps his arms around me and holds me tight against his chest. I turn about enough to share with him one final, lingering kiss, before quietly excusing myself out the door of his apartment.

The door shuts behind me as I step into the hallway and I already feel so dreadfully alone I almost want to rush back into Jean-Jacques’ arms and have him hold me until the sun rises, but I hold back. Automatically I work my way down the hall and the following staircase of the dingy place, and out into the windy air to my car.

I shove the key in the ignition, but I do not turn it. Instead I reach up to the rearview mirror, tilting it to get a better view of myself. The tears, no longer fought, leave thin shimmering trails down my cheeks.

I can’t go home like this! My hair mussed and matted, face still flushed and body shivering, reddening places on my neck where teeth have left their mark. He’d know it, he’d see. And most likely, he’d get very angry...

I finally break down, sobbing into my hands as the winds outside the shelter of my auto pick up drastically. Resting my forehead on the steering wheel, I simply let my emotions flow.

I need to wash, my mind says. I feel so filthy, like someone that has been rolling in dirt. My skin is rank with the strong scent of cologne, cigarettes and sex. Never felt so dirty in my life. Like a prostitute after a long night’s work...

I can’t think like this.

I can’t go home.

I can’t let everything be seen. But where can I go? Back to Jean-Jacques was a possibility. It might repair some of those confused and damaged feelings I left him with through my abrupt departure if I came knocking at his door begging to spend the night being held. Yet, it would ease his pain and increase mine.

Looks like it is going to be another night on the cot at the clinic.

---

Maha...

Prajna...

Paramita...

Hridaya...

Sutra...

Slowly I let my thoughts cleanse as my lips spill the sacred chant. The Heart Sutra...

Avalokitesvara Bodhisattva

when practicing deeply the Prajna Paramita

perceives that all five skandhas are empty

and is saved from all suffering and distress.

Shariputra,

form does not differ from emptiness

emptiness does not differ from form.

Just because you have something, you can’t expect it to fall into place and fill in some kind of gap in your life, I realize.

That which is form is emptiness

that which is emptiness form.

The same is true of feelings...

When something is there that does not mean one has to take it. This leads to greed...

...perceptions, impulses, consciousness.

Dishonesty...

“He loses the steadfastness of his young servant. Danger.” 1

And ultimately...

Gate gate paragate parasamgate...

Suffering.

...bodhi svaha...

---

1 This is an excerpt from an I Ching consultation, from one of the changing lines of hexagram 56, "The Wanderer".