It had spiraled so
fast.
Kay and I
celebrated five years together. Shortly afterward, she dumped me for a new guy.
Now, a few weeks later, I was without her at kink camp. I felt discarded, reeling,
out of place in a familiar space. Kink camp was full of memories of her, most
beautiful, some painful—most painfully, and most recently, with the new guy who displaced me.
“Oh yeah, welcome to the club,” a friend commiserated.
“You’re not in the game until you’ve had your heart broken at kink camp. This is
where my lover dumped me.” She went on to enumerate the many legendary break
ups within the community that occurred on these very grounds. Someone should
put up an historical marker, I thought: “So-and-so was crushed here.”
I was booked to
present classes, organize an orgy, host a storytelling show and run a cabin. I
would be surrounded by friends and love. That would give me strength.
But, I also
knew, I was vulnerable. My feelings were unstable. My body was failing me. My
spirit was broken. Fortunately, my mind was sharp. Knowing that returning to
camp might trigger a sadness I could not control, I asked three friends to act
as my emotional buoys. If I ever feel lost at sea, I told them, I want to know
I can come to you for support. I may never come to you. I may come to you at
any time. Without hesitation, all three agreed. None knew I had asked anyone
else.
I asked two of
these people as they are friends to both Kay and me. They had known us as a
couple. They knew I was hurting and they knew she was hurting. They loved each
of us. The last part was the most critical: I knew that, no matter how I felt
or what I said, they would not respond by denigrating her. It’s easy for people
to say to a friend that his ex is a bitch or a jackass whom he’s better off
without. I couldn’t hear that, as it’s not true. Kay is a kind, caring person.
I loved her. I was in misery without her. We were in a bad place, but that
wasn’t because either of us is a bad person.
The third person
I asked was Lee Harrington.
In the aftermath
of my break-up, Lee had been a good confident, sharing the wisdom he’s gathered
in life, not least of which was the experience of his own current break-up.
“It’s interesting to hear your story,” he said, “Because in my narrative, I’m
in Kay’s position. I’m the one breaking someone’s heart by following my own.”
He had fallen in love with someone living in Anchorage, Alaska, and decided to
move there, leaving behind his partner of many years.
Lee had met Kay,
but didn’t know her well. This didn’t matter. I could trust that Lee wouldn’t
stoop to negativity. When I made this request, he replied, “Of course. I’m
honored to be asked.”
Be careful what
you ask for: you may just receive it.
Lee knew I
wasn’t eating. At every meal, he would appear by my side. Not to scold me for
picking at my food, but just to be present. He’d sit and join in conversation
with my other friends, touching my back, and being there.
If he saw me
crossing the campus, he’d change his path to intersect with mine. He’d ask what
I’d been doing and what I was doing next. He’d tell me where he’d been and
where he’d next be. All by way of casually checking in on me and letting me
know where he could be found.
He often passed
by my cabin—at a dead end on the way to nothing—to chat.
I’ve seen Lee
present at events many times. He’s a great teacher and has taught me many
skills, particularly with rope, at which he is a master and I’m his clumsy
pupil. Lee is a shaman of spiritual sexuality, a guide to those who seek that
path. I’ve not been very curious about “woo woo,” the self-deprecating phrase
Lee uses to refer to something he takes very seriously, and so, I had not
learned much about his views and teachings. In that regard.
On the Saturday
night of camp, Lee was to lead a spirit walk. In deference to my love for him
and his care for me, and in acknowledgement that we would soon be living far
apart, I decided to join the walk.
We convened at
one o’clcok in the morning. We were about a dozen in number. Lee told us that
this was to be a silent journey and we were to use no flashlights. Our
destination was the labyrinth. We were to follow him along a path in the woods.
We walked, listening to the sticks and leaves crunching underfoot. I walked in
the rear, barely able to distinguish the dark form of the person ahead of me or
my feet below, which I watched to avoid tripping. As a result of walking in
darkness, we moved slowly and carefully.
Lee stopped the
procession and illuminated a flashlight. He spoke words intended to help us
reach a meditative state. His voice was clear, his words simple and poetic. He
then doused the light and continued along the dark path.
Once more he
stopped, lighting his face and speaking in a deliberate, rhythmic tone. Once
more he extinguished the light and moved onward.
We arrived at the
labyrinth. The labyrinth is a permanent fixture at camp. I had seen it many
times by daylight. It’s a gravel circle about fifteen feet in diameter, with
its paths demarcated by slightly raised stones of a darker color. Now, it was
illuminated only by a dozen votive candles around its circumference. A drummer
sat on a bench, providing a steady heartbeat.
Lee instructed
us to take places around the labyrinth, standing and facing its center,
directing our energy there. As our number roughly matched the number of
votives, we gravitated to the candles, each of us standing near one.
Lee told us that
each of us in turn would follow our path into the labyrinth. Once at its
center, we would mediate on anything we cared to choose for as long as we
chose. Then we would follow our path out of the labyrinth and return to the
outer circle, making way for the next person. We would move around the circle
in a clockwise fashion; as it happened, the final walk would be mine.
“There are many
paths in the labyrinth,” Lee intoned. “Some are short and some are long. Some
are easy and some are hard.” With that, Lee sat in a beatific pose at the
labyrinth’s entrance.
The first walker
entered. He made his way around and around, closing in on the center, stopping
once it was reached. I could only make out his dark shape as he stood silently
for a few moments. I remembered to direct positive thoughts toward him. We’re
meeting tonight in an amazing place, I thought. We are fortunate. You are good.
You are loved. In time, he raised his arms with a sudden victorious gesture. He
then followed his path out of the labyrinth, taking his place near me. We each
stepped to the left to make room as the next person entered the labyrinth.
And so it went,
each person walking to the center, meditating, returning. In time, it was my
turn. I entered the labyrinth.
In the darkness,
I couldn’t see beyond the next step. The candlelight was, if anything, more
distracting than illuminating, causing peripheral glares. I landed one step,
then the next, walking with care along my spiraling path, the drum beating my
steps.
I reached the
center. I looked around at the others and back to Lee. I closed my eyes.
I meditated on
Kay.
I love her so
much, I thought. I need and want her in my life. I know she is trying to be
friends. I am trying, too. I know the pain will subside and that will help. I
do not want to hurt her, as I do not want to be hurt by her. I hope she will be
full of forgiveness for me, as I try to be full of forgiveness for her.
I opened my
eyes. I looked around at the forms facing me, their features lost in the
darkness. I looked down and began my walk away from the labyrinth’s center. I
followed my path as it lead around, twisting in ways the path inside had not.
Soon, I realized I was heading back inward. I couldn’t correct the path.
I found myself
back at the center.
I felt a wave of
disappointment that was nearly claustrophobic. The labyrinth walls were only
inches high. I knew I could escape just by walking off the path. But don’t seek
escape, I told myself: you are back at the center. Meditate. Focus. Why was I
back at the center?
I meditated on
my return.
I had meditated
on Kay and our relationship, primarily on hopes of building on our past in
creating our future. Perhaps this was not what I should hope. We are not
together and we will not be together again in the same way. She has made that
plain. But even if she offered, I couldn’t go back—I couldn’t bear more
heartache. My hope should be that I find my way without centering on Kay. I
needed to find my own path.
I opened my
eyes. I took a step. I took another. In a few steps, I was out of the
labyrinth.
Lee was
standing, smiling. He opened his arms. I walked into them. We held each other
for a long time. When we released one another, we kissed.
Lee turned to
face the others. He called us into a closing circle, gave thanks and wished us
well on our journeys. I held hands with those who had shared this experience
together. We left the labyrinth area along a more direct path, Lee lighting the
way with his flashlight.
As the company
parted, Lee and I made our way to a fire pit. We found friends there and sat to
talk. Lee and I began to talk about personal histories, sex culture and shared interests.
Those around the fire joined in and still, primarily sat, listening to our
exchange.
Gradually,
people began to head off to their beds. Lee and I were alone, continuing our
conversation, until the night’s chill told us it was time to part. It was
nearly dawn.
We embraced
again. “Isn’t that strange how I wound up back at the center?” I asked. “No one
else had that happen. I’m glad it did, though. I got more clarity.”
Lee put his
hands on my cheeks and looked into my eyes. “There are many paths in the
labyrinth,” he said. “Some are short and some are long. Some are easy and some
are hard.”
No comments:
Post a Comment