Intimacy is more than sex, and doesn’t necessarily include it. The most intimate relationship is a meeting of minds, with a heart of emptiness (openness) and awareness (full attention) for the other. Intimacy requires a sensitive intelligence, and a non conceptual view.
The art of awareness
We can not have intimacy with preconceptions. We can not have an intimate relationship with our idea of each other, only our true selves see with love. We can not truly appreciate each other if we are ignorant, and looking through rose coloured glasses. Emotional Intelligence and I.Q. are not the same and the former is more important for intimacy.
I can’t say if I have ever experienced real intimacy. I tested at 142 in an I.Q. test when I was 17, but my E.Q. has never been tested. My relationships have been less than satisfactory. A recent boyfriend would call be “genius girl” and repeat, “142 I.Q.!” over and over. Yet, his conversations were always patronizing, as if I was a moron, and he would never listen to me. I was merely the cute, nerdy girlfriend. He preferred TikTok to our conversations.
I don’t often get to have interesting conversations. Since I have no formal education, and glasses don’t make me look any smarter, people don’t take me seriously. I am a fringe minority and have unpopular views, which doesn’t help. Men especially just want to stuff something in my mouth when I start talking. After a life time of being dismissed, I have accepted my role as a commodity. I am, at best, the Help, and my knowledge and opinions are not required, invited, or necessary.
My husband, Brian Horback, never listened to me, he would have long conversations with many people, and would sooner take advice from a stranger instead of me. While I promoted his photography, changed careers, moved to another town, did the housework, included his family (but not mine) and was a dutiful wife, he did not reciprocate. He was not much of a husband. If I asked for his share of bills, he would complain about the cost of his stereo. I sprained my ankle and he shrugged and walked away. We were on a bike ride in a foreign country and he and his buddy left me miles behind, they forgot about me. For our honeymoon, he went to Hawaii with his best friend, and left me for two weeks to stay with his parents. Later, I came home from the hospital after a near death, ectopic pregnancy, and he insisted on having sex (i.e. marital rape), the word “no” meant nothing. After 7 years of being his service slave, I left. He tried to take all our assets and leave me with nothing, but I outsmarted him without the help of lawyers.
Mental connection
At this point in my life, I do not expect any sort of intimacy. My sex life is better than ever, but I am unable to make a mental or emotional connection with anyone. My relationship with my sangha has been the closest to a mental intimacy I’ve had. We’ve had intense discussions about the nature of Mind, and the complexities of human experience; the most intellectually satisfying times of my life were spent with these students and scholars.
My mother was a frustrated intellectual and loved politics. She had an immense vocabulary and she never resorted to expletives. She would have political meetings at our home and I had no choice but to listen. Walter Cronkite would deliver the evening news and she would argue with the T.V., and lecture me to, “Question everything!”. She encouraged critical thinking and this fostered my thirst for knowledge. For this I am grateful, but it’s a double edged sword.
It doesn’t always serve me well. I have a weakness for debate, it was one subject I got high marks in. When the Dobb’s decision was announced recently, I regrettably jumped into the Facebook fray. I felt my reproductive history would give me credibility because it includes the gamut of situations, including a teen pregnancy, an adoption, three live births, two abortions, one ectopic pregnancy and an abortion that I induced with herbs. A FB “friend”, (a white middle aged heterosexual man), opined and I commented, suggesting a different view. He immediately went on the offensive, and was hostile and dismissive. Later, on the same thread, another white cis het man made a similar point as I, and he was met with open mindedness and the comment “I hope you’re right”. I realize that regardless of my “lived experiences”, my voice is not relevant.
self awareness
Intimacy with another person is fleeting rare, and precious, but starts with intimacy with our self. The older I get, the more I have an emptiness and awareness for myself. A life time of self analysis brings acceptance. It is difficult to be objective about ourselves; I am ignorant of the impression I make on others. Maybe I’m an asshole, and don’t listen, don’t pay attention; I’ve been called petulant, bossy and strident. My efforts to be helpful might have been more of an imposition, maybe I’m just obnoxious. In spite of my best intentions, I may never be fully realized.
So I get my intimacy from Art. Through my art practice, I explore my self, my portrait subjects are my lovers, my eyes caress them., my hands explore them and my vision honours them.
Art is my conduit to intimacy.
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