I met my master

I met my master in this moment. She has always known me and so my moment of meeting her—she says—is not the truth. She only talks in the moment of truth. I don’t understand her. My heart knows her and though I have never trusted anyone, I trust her. And though I have never loved anyone, I love her. I only give her my burden and she always receives it. My burden has become lighter. One day it will disappear altogether. That is her play with me. What is this burden I have carried? It is the burden of my sense of separation from her. Separation is felt in so many ways and expressed in so many small and big cruel acts. I have done them all—in her presence and privately in my mind. I often mistake that my mind is my private kingdom that I am lord over and I can refuse her the right to enter. She plays with my mind by humbling it. This enrages me and I resist her even harder until the pain of separation from her becomes unbearable, then I give in and surrender. Surrender always lightens my burden, while my kingdom loses more of its slaves of desire. I thought I desired freedom above all.

She showed me I was a prisoner of desire. I wanted to possess her, own her, use her beauty for my own vanity. She did not submit to me, yet she never abandoned me to my private interior life of self-misery. She always brought me to the party—the celebration of life was the song she sang and the dance she danced. I owe her everything. I don’t know how to give her the gift she wants—the gift of myself. She tells me she will steal it one day when I am not looking. Even when my eyes are closed shut, I am looking—looking but not to see—only to guard this stupid precious sense of self. My burden, myself—how I love it and protect it even from her—her that I love and admire most—Her in which my heart knows no borders. She always gives herself away to me. I do not give myself away—ever—that‘s why she says she must steal it—my self—away from me when I am not looking. When will I ever stop looking?

I imagine I will be recognized by a special one who loves only me. I look for this man and imagine how happy we will be. He will delight in my form, smile. He will love me because he knows how special I actually am and how entitled to this love I am. All his attention will be for me. He will live for my pleasure. How rich my imagination is in what I feel I deserve. My master loves not only me, she loves what I am; beyond all my ideas of self and my pleasure. I don’t understand her kind of love. How can her love not just be about me? She says I am like a child when it comes to love. I want to be taken care of and played with but I don’t want to share or give. We fight about this. She says you can be right and lonely and live in your imagination of love or you can give yourself away so completely—abandon all this self-entitlement and live where she lives. She says at the heart of all experience there is only the beauty of humility. As you can see, my master is hard to understand.

I live my life with her but I don’t know why she seems to give me what I want only to ridicule my desire for it. She takes the fun away from owning or possessing anything. Sometimes, I entertain the thought of leaving her so I can own and possess whatever I want. I realize what I want to possess the most is her. Leaving her would get me nowhere. My dilemma is I want what she has, she alone of everyone I have met is bright, is happy, lives her life freely giving. I want to be her, live what she lives, have her bright qualities. I want to have them by possessing her. I want my rights—protected by the law of the land. I want her to sign the marriage contract and lay beside me and only me each night. I want her to make love to me while I feel how special I am to be loved so well. I want to lay on my back and be given love over and over. She only frustrates me. She gives to everyone, not just me. My master is too generous. She expects me to be generous too.

When she sees I am selfish with my love for her, I see a sadness come upon her and she wanders away from me. Where she goes, I know not. I am unable to follow. I don’t want her gift of humility. I want her acknowledgement. I stay away, too, punishing her—waiting for her to return to me—waiting for her apology. I wait, miserable and defending how right I am. I have a right to possess her, I care for her. I am so fucking miserable without her. She is happy anyways—always giving to everyone. She falls in love with rocks, and bugs, and trees. Damn that woman, she is always in love with life.