June 09, 2004

10:30 p.m.

Aw, Koan

It went better than I expected.

I've been reading Tom Robbins' newest book for quite some time now. I have about five books going at once and hardly enough time to read even one, so it's taken me a long time to get even halfway through. There's a little koan that runs through the story, of which I've become particularly fond:

It is what it is
You are what you it
There are no mistakes.

I spent too long figuring out what to wear. Will was about half an hour late, and I was so nervous waiting for him that I was getting obsessive about where the coasters were placed on the side table, etc. and I kept repeating this little verse to myself, finding comfort in its impossibility. Part of my brain let go and allowed it to not make sense, while the other part kept trying to figure it out, and all of that distracted me from my fears.

I was reclining on the couch looking across two rooms at my little white breakfast table, imagining what color I could paint it for the new apartment, when the doorbell rang and took me totally by surprise. I buzzed him in and listened to his footsteps up the two half-flights to my door. I let him knock before I opened it. I couldn't not open it; the moment had come, like the morning. You just can't say no.

He walked in, smiling shyly. His face was a little puffy from the steroids, and he looked older yet than when I saw him 4 months ago.

We couldn't stop smiling like goofs, and we embraced for about a minute, laughing and sighing. He pulled back and bussed me on the lips, twice. I lunged at him and bussed him hard, back, and we laughed and kissed each other rapidly, stumbling over our feet.

Then he took off his shoes and we sat down properly and began to talk.

Of course I asked very politely to see his scars, and he stood up and unbuttoned his shirt. "Well, this is great," he said, "I've only been here five minutes and I'm already taking my clothes off!" Ooooh goody goody, a medical excuse to see his torso, I thought, while being very calm and collected on the outside. The first thing was, his scar is almost completely healed. I mean, it's not puffy, it's just barely pink, and it's not nearly as long as I imagined. I can't believe it was only 2-1/2 months ago. He has various other related scars, and he said he was completely black and blue for a long time, but there's no trace of any of that now.

I stored the rest of the visual away for later. :)

Rebuttoned, he joined me on the couch and we had an absolutely lovely conversation, most of which is now a blur. We had both our upstage elbows on the back of the couch as we faced each other, and at one point in his narrative he took my hand in both of his and held it tightly, and then said, "Is it all right if I do this? I don't know if I'm crossing any borders..." Silly man! Is he really unsure of how I feel? I assured him that it was all right. Finally there was a point where I felt it was okay to offer to show him part of our dvd. This is a song I wrote about him that he's never heard. He did want to see it, so I put it in and we sat on the floor in front of the couch, huddled together like two kids.

It's a heavy song, friends, I say with a sigh. It's deep poetry, some of the deepest I've written, with lots of celestial imagery and heart references. I didn't know how he'd take it.

He loved it. AND he loved the demo, thought it was very professional and well done, which meant as much to me in its way as his acceptance of the song. I asked him if it was okay that I'd shown it to him, because I never knew what he really thought about all this stuff I've written about him, and in answer he put his arms around me and said that yes, it was all right, and he didn't feel deserving.

Huh.

We talked about gigs and other stuff and I showed him the little films I'd made of the apartment. He suggested -- HE suggested, I'm saying -- that he should come visit on a day when he's not bound for New York. What was I doing next week? So there might be something else soon... and the most curious thing came at the end when he was about to leave.

He said we could of course just keep going from here or, if I wanted, we could next time talk more about what happened before, because he'd had time to reflect on it more and... and... he'd been in a strange place then... and, "I made some mistakes," he said at last. "I made some mistakes."

All I could think of was: "It is what it is / You are what you it / There are no mistakes."

I said, "I'd like that very much."