She is beautiful and even more radiant on his love, on his sex. I experienced that once too only I don’t think I shone as much as she did, they seem made for eachother and I am jealous. He is my part time now and again, we sort of have something but don’t kind of lover. I am jealous because clearly what he has shared with her this weekend doesn’t come anywhere near close to what we share. I feel like the second choice engagement ring, the one that gets left in the window, because there is another shining much brighter on a promise of longer lasting love.

I am surprised too at my jealousy outbreak, it feels like some hideous incurable rash, visible and sore and blistered for all to see. I don’t usually get jealous. This is a true statement.  The reason I don’t usually get jealous is because up until this weekend, I would hide it, disguise it, have it show up in some other incarnation. Something like calm, locked down tolerance and other deep down disguises.

I know the emotional price of jealousy.  I know that madness, that bat shit crazy madness, where my pupils widen, my logic takes a vacation and that primal scream. Oh! That scream, like a freight train screeching through the New York city subway in the dead of night.

I have known for many years that place of disconnect inside of me and I remember as if it were yesterday the reasons why I chose it, lock down and internal control of my emotions, an act of internal terrorism, because being honest about the cause of my pain would have been so much worse. A combination of defeated pride and humiliation.

Denial of those tender emotions caused damage. Damage of years of disconnect in internal far away spaces. Disconnect was much easier than the truth. The truth of unrequited desires.

Here I am now. Older and bitten by seeing my lover with his lover and feeling set apart, excluded, unwelcome at their engagement party, as she wears the diamond ring he chose over mine.

I felt like a robot having an epileptic fit. Jolted. Angular. Awkward. Exposed. Helpless.

I felt helpless in the wake of that freight train. The noise it made on the New York subway, screeching and merciless. I was underneath, feeling very unlucky at being altered by the jealousy train.

And yet, here I am a few days later much richer from my jealousy inflictions. I accessed a deep, dark, crystalised cavity of loneliness in my chest space. A space so in need of intimacy and connection and love, there it was, and I acknowledged it and the pain and the emptiness inside and it is grateful to be noticed, to be known.

This is the place inside I’ve been avoiding for years, decades even and all there was to do for five days was to be in that dark cavity and feel into that graveyard of a space and make friends with the bones and the cold and the damp and here too, even the loneliness feels lonely, here too despair feels despair and here too wretchedness feels wretched. A kind of purgatory.

And so I decided to speak and interact with every person from this lonely place and in doing so I acknowledge its existence, its positive intention for me, its hunger and the echoing of its desire; love me, know me, feel me, be with me, touch me, accept me, play with me, laugh with me, come in, come in, come into my soul.

Energetically I feel the opening of my heart and a warm radiance in my chest and as I expand my sternum forwards the cavity too pushes out towards the light, through my lungs, through my ribs, my sternum, my skin and out into the air and I am reminded of how my mother and grandmother would tell me how a healing wound needs air to breathe.

And I breathe.


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