Jumping in love and jumping in a sizzling fry pan are synonymous.
Last night I had a crying jag on the front steps of my hotel. The bar manager saw, sat next to me, excused herself, then went inside and texted my BF.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“Nothing,” I replied.
“No one sits on the front steps and cries,” he answered, “especially not someone like you.”
What on earth does that even me? Like me.
I’ve realized that I’m a ghost. I appear in people’s lives when I’m needed and disappear when I’m not. I’m an empty vessel with no agenda. I don’t remember yesterday’s and I can’t envision tomorrow’s. All I have is today.
When men and women look at me they see what they want to see. I might say to my BF that I think he’s attractive. He then sees his attractiveness in me. You see, if we’re open to the disappearance of our egos, we simply mirror the others around us.
But this is not the same as losing yourself in someone. Being lost is always frightening, whether in a forest or someone’s heart. Being lost means being in darkness.
When you’re mirroring someone you’re reflecting their beauty and grace. And sometimes that radiation sizzles.
So my BF and I have decided to turn down the flame, to remove our lust from the burner, to cool off. A mirror reflects a tremendous degree of heat back to the flame. And that’s when things get scary.