To Be A Lover
by Chelsey Johnson Dec 2, 2014
When I am swept by love, it is freedom to be in complete expression. Romance is the ultimate permission for me, all of my blocked and secret doors are unlatched, their contents freed and shared. The power and truth in my body, it flows from my fingertips and my eyes and my skin like a perfume. I am all of myself. I forget the rules. So, of course, I chase this state, because I attribute that freedom to the context, to the lover, to the romance itself.
Without an excuse to be as lawless as a lover, I am locked up in a prison of my own making. The same part of me that seeks for love restricts every move and expression to protect me from the lack of acceptance I suspect at every turn. It is as if those parts of me can only come out after the space is proven safe, and so I never know love but in those fleeting intense moments where I am fully naked, soul and body, in the rush of the fall with another.
This, though, is not the truth. The truth is that stabs of disapproval I feel from others are my own, the love I feel mirrored from another is mine too. And the more I move into my own consonance, congruence, integrity, the more access to my own love and approval I experience. It is shitty work sometimes, to acknowledge the parts that I find to be unacceptable, unlovable. The hungry, desperate, attention seeker. The dark and powerful witch. The angry, petulant child. The violator, perpetrator, victim. The volatility, the vulnerability, the desire. They are a lot to have.
Conversely, fittingly, they are the things I seek to find in my lovers. My inner hunter is relentless in search of their dark and their light, the spots that don't come out in the day. Somewhere I know that the treasure is in there, that the good stuff is behind the locked doors. I want to know them fully as deeply as I want to be known. The catch is that I cannot access this intimacy without baring myself first.
To be a lover, to be as I wish in the world would require that I open without license of redamancy. To accept myself, I cannot hide and shame who I am and hope that someone else will provide the balm for a self-inflicted wound. My permission must come from within; conditionality is the illusion with which I craft my cage. So, I resist the urge to seek for love outside myself, and turn the focus inward.
To be a lover, I must be loving with myself. And, with that in mind, I'm going to offer myself the possibility that I already do, always have, and always will, love all of myself - it's time I remember.