~ polarity ~

She is standing.
Deep in thought, still caught in the complexities of the day.
Beneath her clothes, she wears her body armour like an invisible skin.
It is dented and damaged from the blows it’s taken throughout the week, throughout its lifetime of use.
It is not exactly comfortable, but it’s so familiar she often forgets it’s there.
It has become a habit, a companion – slightly restrictive but reassuring. It has also become a tool to protect her from being bombarded at work, a friend to help her bear the harrowing tales of the nightly news. It’s become a buddy to help her battle her way through her endless busy schedule and someone to walk her home at night when she’s tired and her guard is down.

She is standing.
She feels a heaviness inside her body. It is subtle, familiar.
She thinks maybe she’s just tired.
And she is – tired of managing the myriad tasks of money and motherhood. Tired of maintaining a soft and open heart in an often, hard world.

But the heaviness is more than that.
It starts at the top of her head and drips down, slipping over her curves and flowing with gravity towards the ground.
She moves her attention through her body.
There are aches and general weariness, bits of her that hurt. But there are other parts that have no feeling at all – some bits that seem completely numb.
She moves a little, restless, trying to shake awake the blank spaces – the places in her body that have forgotten how to feel.

She remembers times of feeling vibrant, vital, trusting and alive. Was it really that long ago?
She moves to put on some music.
Loosens her hair, her shoulders.
She begins to release the woman within.

She rarely shows herself to others.
And although the world sees her ability, her skills, her deep, heart-felt care, there are some parts of her that are almost never felt, never seen, never shared.

She is standing.
The music begins to slowly penetrate her.
She begins to drop the damage of the day, to feel at ease.
She can now, come out of hiding.
Slowly, as if awakening from sleep, she stretches, and makes a long, deep exhale.

 

He is standing.
Watching.
He has been waiting for this.
For her to arrive.
He feels an inner shift in his own awareness. A new alertness rises in him.
Silently he acknowledges,
I am here.

He stands back, observing her.
He knows her heart.
How it is hardened by her daily battles.
He knows the demands of her life and the even higher demands she places upon herself.
He knows she needs time – to reset, to return to herself and reclaim her space and sanity after giving so much.
He knows sometimes she has nothing left give.

So he asks for nothing.
Instead he slips seamlessly between her and her tasks, between her and her thoughts.
As a man, he slides into action, he steps quietly in and around her.
He silently supports.

Unconsciously, she responds, relaxes, receives him and his simple gifts – the dishes done, the children settled, the bright lights of the house now dimmed.

He can see her standing.
Standing still.
How long has she been like that? Holding herself upright, brave, braced?

He knows it is time for her to rest.
To soften. To lean on and into him.
He has already relaxed himself, worked to become present and cleared away his own daily debris.
He is ready to offer her the space and holding she needs.

He wants to invite her to him, but he knows he must be respectful, full of care.
If he expects anything in return, if she senses he wants something from her, she might freeze, harden against him.
He will lose her again. He will lose this chance for deep connection.
They will both become lost.

So he checks his own heart.
He feels his deep love for her, and also, for himself.
He knows between them an ancient dance of polarity is playing out.
That the divine is daring them both to show up, be completely open and true.

The music plays.
He walks slowly towards her.
He stops close enough so she can sense him behind her, but not near enough to touch.
He is letting her know,
I am here.

His proximity offers her a choice.
A choice to turn towards his heart and her own, or to turn away.

He knows that as a woman her choices are sometimes limited, are often made for her.
He knows this makes her feel disempowered, disregarded, and deeply enraged.
He knows she can project these feelings onto him in times of despair. He knows he is sometimes deserving of them.

He is a man.
He understands why she is wary, why she’s so f*cking mad at men right now.
But he is her man.
He’s not perfect but he’s trying. He’s showing up.

He wants to be there for her, as a man, in ways that will restore her faith in him, their relationship and connection. In ways that will restore her faith in the world at large.
He knows together they are stronger, better.
He trusts together, they can make it through.

They are standing.
The tension builds.
He is inches from her.
He holds the space.
Steady.
Welcoming. Strong.

She is fighting with her inner demons.
Her fatigue. Her rage.
Her deep inner desire to be independent and free.

He meets her with his silence.
Allowing her process.
Knowing she needs more time.
He knows sometimes he is unavailable, aloof, distant.
He wants to change that. Is working to be more present, open, real.

He is unmoving.
He stays.

She is standing.
The music plays.
It softens that silent, sacred place in her.
The place of knowing without a name.
The place that she has known her whole life but has never fully claimed.

It is a place far beyond all her anger, her fear, her wounding.
It lives beyond her lifetimes of endless longing…to be heard, to be held, to fully love, to deeply trust.

An ancient grief arises and lodges in her throat. She fights it for a moment, then remembers to breathe, to stay with it, allow it, let it be.

Then slowly she succumbs to its truth.
Her truth.
Her deep longing. Her intimate feminine truth – to be touched, to be seen, to be treasured and met.
By him.
By him in all his flawed and gracious masculinity.

She has waited for this moment.
One of so many they have shared.
Another sacred surrendering of her heart.
She is scared.
So open, vulnerable.

And so is he.
Rejection lingers, looms.

They stand.
A breath apart.
Hearts throbbing.
Wanting.
Needing.
And also, ready to flee.

He finds his resolve. Claims his space.

Unspeaking he says,
I am here.

She knows.

She knows she can choose to deny it all. Him.
Again.
Or simply dive in.

He has to show her his commitment.
She needs him to.
He steps closer.
So close.
I am here.

His body heat melts through her armour.
It drops and slides to the floor.

She is standing.
Naked now.
Tenderly, he whispers,
I am here.

She knows.
She has always known.

Leaning back into him.
They both come home.

 

 

(c)  Chandu Bickford Oct 2018