(This delightful picture was taken around Christmas time of last year (2007). There is no reason why I look distressed & why my husband looks so debonair & normal. I just can never willingly take a decent picture without making a silly face.)
My husband usually has amazing stories to tell. Last night, I asked him to tell me little Buddhist parables about finding enlightenment. He tells them so amazingly well & I enjoy them as if they were meant to be read before bedtime. I have to say, though, that I never understand these stories. Apparently, only those who have experienced “true enlightenment” could understand the vagueness of these parables — & I am not enlightened. Thus, they usually fly over my head so quickly that I barely have time to try to catch them. When I ask Lover to explain it to me, he just gives me this mysterious answer: “Once you perceive it without using your brain, you will understand it.” I loathe it when he says this.
In spite of that, I love them (& him) & always giggle when each story ends with “& then… he was enlightened.” I feel like that is too much of a dramatic conclusion for such a small tale! These stories are usually about desperate monks who desire to reach the highest level consciousness. So desperate, that they often cut off their arm or their finger, just to show the Master Guru (who has already reached enlightenment) that they are completely serious about wanting to be enlightened.
When the Master Guru senses their madness (& that’s really what it is: sheer & tangible madness, because really… who cuts off their arm, for Heaven’s sake, to prove a point?), he will tell them to do something completely off the wall — like purchase 3 pounds of flax, for instance — & apparently, that will show them the way to enlightenment. Suddenly, just as it’s getting interesting, Lover will announce: “& then… he was enlightened” which signals the end of the parable. These stories are often so serious that this simple statement from Lover sends me into fits of delightful laughter. & I can’t explain why it’s giggle-worthy. The way my husband says “& then… he was enlightened” just tickles me & makes me swoon, just ever so slightly. His voice is so deep & smooth; he never stutters when he speaks. Or… maybe he does stutter, but I would never notice because I’m too engrossed in the vibrations that his speech tends to send through my body. (This is quite true, by the way.)
A few months ago, my husband shared a story on his blog. This story is painfully true; almost to the point of disbelief. & when he tells this story, I do not laugh. I cry. Naturally, with every story there are 2 sides. In this case, one is his & the other is my own, because I was there as the story unfolded.
I wrote my side of the story in a haunting detail not too long ago, but threw it away; I couldn’t bear to publish it. Mostly because I didn’t want to immortalize it. Even speaking about it now, as vaguely as I am, it sends shivers down my back & reluctantly brings me back to the times when Lover & I had no connection; when there were nothing but secrets, lies & dishonesty between us. While I still kick myself for throwing such a decent piece of work into the garbage, I eventually realized that Lover’s story is our story together, no matter how sorrowful or shameful; that even though I didn’t tell my part, he is speaking for both of us. I am his wife, after all & it is his story to tell… not mine.
While I still play with the idea of rewriting my side to this story, I can never come to a decent conclusion. But that’s quite fine with me; everything in its right place, of course.
I admire my husband for having the courage to speak so candidly about something that hit us so terribly hard. I love him for his integrity & for his strength. I look up to him because of his ability to keep moving forward to become a better man for our little family & for himself. Despite our hardships in healing from the past, he is my hero, completely.
The story of his overdose on cocaine & his recovery is here.