Craving Communication

In no particular order, I am going to post journal entries I've written since April. Maybe not every one of them, but at least some. I shudder on one hand to expose my heart so blatently, but I must learn to stop being afraid and BE. And so I am.

The woman in the SUV talks on her cell phone and gestures wildly with her free hand, makes sure to keep her palm on the steering wheel while the rest of her hand flails. Communication is like that. For all she says, for all the person on the other end of the phone hears, they cannot see her hand desperately gesticulating. They are not aware of her struggle to convey her meaning while maintaining control of the rest of her world.

Is she gesticulating because she failed to convey her meaning? Does she gesticulate because of ineffective communication, because she doesn’t know the right words to say? Or is the person on the other end of the phone not listening? Unwilling, unable to process her meaning? Are they too wrapped up in the traffic in front of them, or the sinkful of dirty dishes waiting to be washed, or perhaps the weight of unpaid and unpayable bills prevents them from hearing her words?

Does it even matter why? Does it matter that she doesn’t know how to say it? Does it matter why he can’t receive it? All my life, I’ve wondered why, why not. I believed that if I only discovered the key, I could unlock the door and enter the land of communication with another human. If we could truly hear one another, know one another’s heart, we could be as one.

Oh God, what a lonely existence this life is. Unable to connect except on such minimal levels. I am a whole body with huge surface area, craving touch but can only accomplish a handshake. As electric as our hands are when they touch, I want more – I want to feel your body against mine, pressed against me in every possible way. This isn’t sex I speak of. It is connection, communication. It is acknowledgement of my spirit, of your spirit, of our vibration strumming along at the same frequency. For just that little while, we are in step, in tune.

And I crave this. My soul aches for it. My flesh trembles in anticipation of the promise of the wonder of this connection, this ineffable blending – no, melding – of the two of us, whoever “us” may be. And this isn’t even physical; it is spiritual. It is a knowing, an awareness of agreement and vibration that thrums in perfect harmony – a promise and a realization simultaneously.

And all of this is metaphor. My flesh is my spirit. I speak not of physical longing although my spiritual longing causes my physical self to hurt. I want that recognition that comes when you meet somebody whose spirit resonates in harmony with your own. I need that aha moment when two souls connect and remember each other.