Have you ever heard a bird sing at night? I have. The night is where my mind feels safe to empty itself of the thoughts that speed through my mind like wild horses galloping through a meadow. The night offers me respite from the noise of the day. It is within this quiet space that I can remember. I remember what it means to be free, to not be enslaved by societal expectations, and to step away from the cycle of self-flagellation. Even though life can feel boring these days, so stagnant, I cannot help but appreciate the noise of the world receding and being quiet for a spell. I can feel myself wanting to bloom. I had felt like parts of me had been erased, and my soul was famished from the days where indifference was my only sustenance. I know that I have been here before, in a different form and my essence was something unconventional. I can recall the feeling of being caught up in the joy of living without interruptions from external factors, subjecting myself only to the whims of my own spirit.
Recently, I noticed that I have been accepting the kind of intimacy that promises immediate gratification. Until now, it never occurred to me that intimacy exists in many forms. I realized that I was searching for intimacy only in other beings. However, intimacy does not limit herself to interactions with other humans. Intimacy can be found in the gracious smile of the bird when I feed her at night. Intimacy sits with me when I am cooking a meal alone. She walks with me to see the sunset when I need to connect with the Earth and the Stars. Intimacy sits across from me while I write beneath my favorite lamp. Intimacy is found in my affection for life.
At our core, we crave connection. Behind the smoke and mirrors of daily life, intimacy patiently waits to connect us to something deeper, to free us from the phantasmagoric escapism that plagues our modern world. Tonight, as I listen to the bird sing her song, I attempt to imagine what intimacy wants for my life. I know now that, for the sake of my journey, words are insufficient at this time. My craving will forever feed through sensations, and how my body tingles when my soul is felt by another. How you can still feel someone else looking at a similar work of art, gazing at that same moon, with a different emotion and a contrasting imagination. Maybe my intimacy after all longs for resonance. Just like that, the bird abruptly abandons her song, yet I remain.
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