The concept is just so sweet, so juicy, so elusive. Pure intimacy is as rare as it is rich.
Days and years can pass without experiencing the real thing, even when the Object of Intimacy -- the only creature that can satisfy our magnificent craving -- is nearly constantly at hand. The conditions have to be just so, nurtured by design or fate, and then, like sleep, it comes on very gradually, sometimes unexpectedly. Two people, at the same moment, have to want nothing more than to pull the covers over their heads and conspire there, breathing on each other in the tent of complete trust: silently agreeing, absolutely knowing, that every thought and act is safe forever from the glare of the world outside themselves.
Last night was one of those nights for us. And, of course, I can’t blab, I mean – blog, about it or I would be violating the prime directive of intimacy; the universe would starve me for a long time after such an infraction; my loved one would drop the rope that binds us together and who could blame him?
In the glow of the morning-after, it is sad to think about Intimacy-Deprivation: an epidemic; a long drawn-out famine in today’s tell-all, bare-all world. Couples get tangled up in a tornado of a have-all, do-all, know-all, and the wrestle to extricate themselves from the mayhem -- to find peace in a storm-cellar that they dig and defend together -- takes commitment, loyalty, deference, restraint…and then
spontaneous combustion.
And when it happens – when “I understand / You understand”, “I accept / You accept” ignites the dross of routine loneliness and love whips up suddenly like a bushfire – that’s when the buried marriage explodes into the light so that lovers are reconnected, rejuvenated, restored to their original state.
The whole process is all sort of mysterious: first of all, because no one can explain or predict exactly how it happens, and second of all because no one can share much about it when it DOES happen. I wish there were fool-proof instructions (we usually fail at intimacy, by the way, because we ARE fools), but since you have to build your own bonfire, and I assume you want to, I’ll go out on a limb and share just a few innocent suggestions. Come closer, so I can whisper.
A rainy Friday. An autumn night. Apple cider. And candlelight.
Intimacy: feast on it.
Mona shares and teaches romance at Mona's Musings with a Hint of Romance and posts daily at Mona's Musings on Facebook. She is the mother of four plus three, grandmother of two little boys, and the award-winning author or With Mine Own Hand: The Musical Account of Nephi. She regularly speaks to Relief Societies about "Understanding, Appreciating, and Supporting the Men in Our Lives" and would love to visit yours (your RS, that is). Top photo from Dreamstime.com
