Flare

There’s a moment in intimacy or dance that, if I slow down, I can feel myself moving as an object in a vast universe. I can be aware of myself in space in relation to another. I’m connecting to me, rather than to them. An awareness of skin, movement, breath and closeness, a slower trancey state of enhanced perception and joy. Of feeling close and free, to notice another body, skin, fabric, mass, warmth, beard, thigh in a wordless connection in the present moment. Enough permission to share aspects of myself that don’t usually have expression, a way for another to allow that in themselves. It’s spacious, generous, and rare. It’s taken time, a long time, to be in that momentary bliss, to let go of grasping, and to see the moment as a gift and only that. To override meaning-making and longing for more. To let go of the want to hold on to this beauty, attention and permission. There’s an eroticism and sensuality to it that’s missing in my Greek exile life. These solar flares of remembering are precious.