This post is going to feature a lil bit of my sex life as well as me being with a man. If you’re a family member and have a problem with seeing me as a sexual being, don’t read. If you don’t like that I like men and women and non-gendered people, don’t read.
Ok! Hello Blogosphere! A few days ago, I met, spent time with and slept with an emotionally empowered, evolved, conscious and beautiful man and it changed my life forever. I usually don’t write about these things but I think being open with it is going to do more good than harm. Previous to being with him, I had gone on a year long time of being with only women and I loved it. I found these women to be beautiful, loving, sexy and in no way am I questioning my attraction to them. About a year ago, I read this article that basically said that although I spend a lot of time asking the universe for a conscious and evolved partner, when I get one, I’m not gonna know what to do with them. As much as I HATE to say it, the article was right.
For a year and a half, I’ve been steadily slacking. I allowed myself to be lax in my yoga practices, I went way off my vegetarian diet, meditation became Netflix, earth walking became driving and water quite literally became wine. So how in the world did the mixed vibes I sent out come back as a soul mate? I believe in soul mates, not one but a tribe. Throughout life, we meet these soul tribe mates and some of them become best friends, some lovers, some are our parents and some come only for a season or a day and then exit just as swiftly as they entered.
I met one soul mate last year, met one before that, and yet I still had/have this nagging feeling that someone else is coming. That I have to prepare. What I notice is that my soul mates are usually so very unexpected. They sneak up on me.
This soul mate is different than most. He is a conscious, positive vibing, earth walking, waking up at 5am to practice meditation and yoga, jogging man who even though younger than me, was SO very much older in spirit and nothing could have prepared me for that.
I’m going to make up a name, let’s say Matthew. I met “Matthew” during my first week in LA. I was still living in my brother’s apartment, still jet lagged and still clumsy and confused about LA, even more so than I am now. Matthew had just gotten to LA a month ago from let’s say “Italy” so his english was basically as good as my Spanish-which I have to say as a side note that my spanish is pretty good for someone who grew up speaking it with her Puerto Rican best friend-but anyway, you get my point. We met, he invited me to hang out a few times but in the flurry of buying a car and finding an apartment and move-in day, I forgot about him. Then, one day, as I was sitting on my couch, I sent him a message. He responded pretty quickly with an address for me to drive to and the knowledge that although LA was a cool place, he would be moving back to Italy in two days.
So that was perfect, right?
Hang out. chill. go home. he leaves.
Side Note: I’ve had more than a few one night stands, and most recently I told myself that there would be no more. From now on, I would force myself to get to know someone before sleeping with them once, losing all interest and then disappearing. Let me just say before you get all judgey wudgey that sexual assault survivors find healing in various ways and many either become religiously celibate or screw everything walking. Well, I became the latter for a minute and decided to cut myself off.
I got to the address and out he comes. We get ice cream (He pays) and even with the language difference, we talk. We talk about any and everything. We talk about existentialism, life, our joys and our sorrows. He got me to do more talking in 30 minutes of ice cream than anyone in 30 minutes of talking ever. We go back to the apartment and no we don’t hook up immediately. We talk. We listen to each other’s music and we read each other.
Reading is something that my mother as well as all the older black women in my life do exceedingly well. They can look at you and tell whether you have your period, if you’re pregnant, if you’re tired, if you just had chicken, if your soul is uneasy, if you need cleansing, etc. I don’t have the capability that my mother has, but I’m not too shabby at reading when I need to. Being read by a white man and have it be accurate was unnerving and he knew it too. We talked about racism, my need for activism and the world as I see it. He didn’t understand it but he hugged me with empathy. He kept putting his hand just above my forehead where my third eye is and just holding his hand there as though sending positive energy or measuring just what was going on in that chakra. I could see that speaking in english was wearing on him and so I told him he could speak spanish or french if he wanted to. I could understand him but I would respond in spanish or english. After hours of talking and reading, he finally kissed me. Not only that, but he asked me continually for consent. DO YOU KNOW HOW SEXY THAT IS FOR A SURVIVOR OF SEXUAL ASSAULT?! Well, now you do.
After hours of wine drinking, talking and making out, we were joined by his flatmates who were just as awake and fun as he was and as it got later and later, he asked me if I would stay. Without a thought, I knew it was a yes. We went at my pace and I was fully unprepared for what my body and spirit would go through. At one point, I remember saying, “I think we make a good team.” He responded with “I don’t think, I know.” I slept more peacefully that night than I had in the entire time I had been in LA. There were times in which I would roll away or open my eyes and see him watching me or pull me right back into his arms. We woke up and touched, slept more and repeat. Finally we woke up and all I felt was joy. I couldn’t help smiling and laughing and snuggling. “You are happy.” he said, matter of factly. “Yes! I am!” I replied laughing. He consistently asked me what I was thinking and for a while I kept saying “nothing”, because I wasn’t. I was completely in my body for the first time in a long time. We went out for chicken quesadillas for lunch because we had slept through breakfast. (He paid again) Soon enough it was time for him to pack and me to leave.
The goodbye was as terrible as most goodbyes are. He walked me to my car, insistent on seeing what I drove. He kept stopping by silver and blue cars. Cars that were cute. Suitable for a woman to drive. Freedom, my black 2008 Ford Focus was parked way down the block. Usually, I park down the block in LA and then walk up so I feel like I’m actually doing exercise. When he finally saw Freedom and me standing beside her, he exclaimed, “Of course, a black car!” and I laughed as he came close to kiss and hug me. He thanked me for staying the night, I thanked him, we kissed, once, twice. I walked to the driver’s side of Freedom and got in. He walked around with me and as I could see that he didn’t want me to go, I prepared bluetooth and started the car. He waved, walked back to the sidewalk and began to leave. Music blared from my speakers as I zoomed around the corner, honked, waved and that was it.
The unpreparedness of all of this was that it wasn’t meant to last, but also that I couldn’t meet him at the same enlightened place because I’m not at that place right now. I haven’t saged my new apartment or smudged my room. I haven’t been keeping my ritual and so what he saw was a diminished light. Yet what he saw, he still cherished. But now there’s an urge. A need to prepare myself in all ways. What if I do decide to stick to my regimen, to wake up early, to eat right and practice yoga, meditate and work out. To “go for it” as he constantly said. To actually be as old of a spirit as I feel.