Present and aware

At the dentist today my hygienist commented on the efficacy of staying present for the two minutes it takes to brush our teeth. Her remark interested me. Alert present awareness has been the topic of the week at my place.

In an unaware moment- a few days ago- I spoke out of turn. The resulting hurt brought me sharply into the Now - too late to prevent harm but soon enough to lovingly seek a solution. Once again it was brought home to me: positive engagement with any other life is only possible when I am present, attentive to the real time interaction.

I am working on it now, so I made a pledge: to become pro' at living Now- all of my relationships are too precious for second rate anything, you see. 

At least none of us need to learn alone. I have asked my guides for help with this one, in the certain knowledge that Love Here and Now is their top priority too.

The Closing Chapter of Drawing From Life:

Philip woke early Monday morning. Although he was weakened and light headed  the crisis seemed over. He had a firm appointment for ten thirty. That had to be attended to, even if he came home to rest afterwards.

Keeping to a light breakfast of toast, he played his voice mail while he ate. There were no urgent business calls. He paused to listen closely to Rhona’s voice when it came on. He could hear concern but all she said was “Call me when you can.” Well he couldn’t yet, that was obvious.

It was Bill who had left a message on his home phone. He offered a sort of an apology or an admission of misunderstanding anyway. Philip knew he would have to respond to that at some stage. At present he had nothing to say.

Such tremendous pressure seemed to be pressing in on him from all sides. This next opening was no bigger than any other, but his expectations for it were far higher. Bill had made his choice, or had it made for him, but that could not alter the fact that their long standing friendship was now seriously under threat. Then there was Rhona. After being so unguarded as to reveal his attachment what was he to do about the expectation he had raised there? Such a declaration as he had made could not be ignored indefinitely.

The throbbing pain at his temples had returned as Philip drove to the museum. Physical debility was easy enough to compensate for. It was the mental and emotional turmoil he was unused to operating under. Only his years of professional discipline enabled him to place his personal concerns at the back of his mind while he visualised the desired outcome for the interview.

The meeting was conducted at the rear of the shop. Business was nearly concluded, and satisfactorily so, when the manager said something about display space. Philip glanced up toward the main front window. He felt an impact just under his rib cage and must have made some sound because the man asked him if he was OK.

He nodded but his voice sounded seedy “Just a bit off colour. You were saying?”

While he tried to listen Philip watched Rhona. She was beside the window but her face was turned away from it. She was wearing jeans and a green jersey in a light weight knit. She had the leather bag with her she often took walking, or when she wanted her hands free. He watched her study the stone of the column beside her and examine the metal stand with the concert party performance times written on it. With her middle finger she was making small circles on the place between her eyes. It occurred to him that the place where he was sitting was obscured from the front window. She had not seen him.

Rhona turned away then. He could see she wasn’t looking where she was going. She bumped an older woman and he watched her apologise before she hurried out of his sight in the direction of the exit. Philip concluded the meeting as quickly as decency allowed, hurrying to catch her.

Outside it was raining. He finally spotted her, sheltering on the porch and rifling in her bag. He called but she didn’t hear him. When he came closer, not too close, he said “Have you lost something?”

Her hand froze when he spoke, but she seemed composed when she stood up, pushing her hair back. “It doesn’t matter …”

He pulled her further back under the roof of the porch. “What do you mean it doesn’t matter? Look at me please.”

His dark grey suit had wet specks on the shoulder where the rain had caught him. She reached up to brush the damp away, watching her fingers on the cloth. A hand came under her chin and, none too gently, turned her face to look at him. She couldn’t see properly but it didn’t matter.  “What are you doing here?”

She shrugged but he was already asking “Did you drive here?” When she shook her head he took her elbow and pulled her down the steps “Come with me.”

Ignoring the rain he steered her the short distance to his car and. opening the passenger door, he said “Get in.” without looking at her.

He climbed in his side in silence, started the car and backed out quickly. She started to ask  where they were going but he cut her off brutally. “Be quiet Rhona. Don’t speak.”

He drove fast for the wet conditions, but safely. She sat with her eyes closed facing out the passenger window. When she felt the sounds change and the car stop she looked again. They were in a small underground car park. He got out and came around to her side. “Come with me,” he said briskly. His face was a stone face. They went over to the lift where he jammed the button with the side of a closed fist.

She whispered “Why are you so angry with me?” He would not answer. They entered the enclosed space together. When the lift stopped they were in a foyer she recognised. He opened his door, still without speaking. When she didn’t move he pulled her through. His fingers hurt her hand. Throwing the door shut behind him, Philip left his arm on it, rigid above her head, blocking her there. He spoke very quietly in precise, clipped words. “I am not angry with you. I am livid with myself. All this waiting- waiting for clients, opportunities, for the right time to…to…So angry”, he took a shallow gasp of air, “and now I have frightened you.”

Keeping still and silent, she watched him carefully.

“I…I am not a violent man.” His other hand was around her throat. “but right now I could…”

“Yes”, she said calmly, “but you would violate yourself as well- as you know.”

He rested his head on his out-stretched arm, with his forehead near to hers. “Is this a break down? Is that what it is? My mind is hung on trivia- over and over. I am looking at you down a tube while something eats out my insides.” He threw his head up “That snake, your painting of the snake was…”

“Yes” Slowly she moved his hand from where it rested, slack now on her collar bone. “Would you go and lie down please. I will come and sit with you if you would like that.”

 “Thank you.” He was trying to sound more controlled. “I had better pull myself together.”

She was following him through to the lounge. “I’m not sure that would be a smart thing to do just yet. Your foundations are fractured.”

He sat heavily on the sofa. Rhona took the top end, drawing him gently down until he was lying flat out with his head in her lap. She kept quiet, letting her fingers massage his forehead and scalp with rhythmic circular movement. Eventually he relaxed and nestled his head more comfortably against her.

He tried to explain himself. “I was ill, but Rhona I think it was our conversation the other night and … and an argument- not an argument exactly- Bill came.” She only nodded, which he couldn’t see, as his eyes were shut.  “So theoretically there was no problem. It’s just that I can’t…I want…” He looked up at her. “I suppose you think I’m incapable.”

He was treated to her soft smile and caressing touch on his cheek. “I don’t think anything. You are doing more than enough of that on your own.” It was a white lie of course. She was thinking all right. Thinking poor Philip you have locked yourself between lose and lose. You are being challenged to create something new, rather than maintain the status quo. Thinking that whichever choice you make you will not go back on it. She wondered at how terrified he was of making a mistake.

He lay with his eyes shut a while and neither spoke. Eventually he rubbed his eyes with his palms and sat up. “Will you marry me?”

She shook her head, smiling. He just stared at her, incredulous “But you said…” Her eyes were sparkling and there was that curl to her lips that he loved. “What’s so funny? I’m serious.”

“So am I. Come on Philip, feel it. You don’t want to marry me, or anyone else. You feel you should.  Or you feel other people –somebody- expects it.” She began to laugh. “You would hate it. Your privacy is not just precious, it’s necessary to you. I am willing to bet you even dread sharing a bathroom.” She was clearly much amused by the idea. “Well? Am I right?”

He smiled back, looking all of eighteen years old when he did. “I solemnly pledge that the next time I meet an intuitive woman I shall run away. So you knew all this and now I feel a fool. Why didn’t I talk to you?”

“Let’s see. May be because that is only the preliminary issue.” He resisted her attempts to push him back to a reclining position. Instead he sat up extending his arm along the sofa behind her and demanding she explain what she meant.

Rhona leaned into him, fiddling with the buttons on his jacket. It was still damp on the shoulders and probably not doing him any good. She tried to avoid answering but he insisted. She joked she wasn’t qualified to act as his analyst. His caustic reply goaded her to say “There are other issues obviously. You are not simply substituting mistresses I presume. There would have been no difficulty there, once the marriage expectation was out of the way. So it can’t be that which is causing you distress." She paused a moment, considering her words. "The traditional social or economic arrangements are no use to you, so clearly you are being asked to invent a solution.”

“Why did I think you were in any way romantic?" He brushed his finger on her cheek, without moving his arm. “We are not discussing a business arrangement.  An unofficial couple is a binary lose-lose in my opinion.”

 She shrugged, “There is a third possibility. It’s hard to express- say two independent individuals in complete sympathy – not either/or but both/beside. Does that make sense?”

He let his head flop against the back of the sofa. “Interesting- a spiral model of relationship. As an intellectual exercise this is comforting Rhona, but we’re not resolving anything.”

He got up. With jerky movements of his arms and legs Philip moved to stand braced at the balcony doorway. His head hung down. “Sometimes”, he said to his shoes, “sometimes I wish I had never met you.”

Rhona had come to stand beside him, looking at the rain swept view. “Not to worry, the feeling is mutual.”

He spun her around to face him, taking her by the shoulder. “What does that mean? What you just said.”

She raised an eyebrow at his hand pinching into her shoulder but he ignored the hint to remove it. She wanted to scream. He was so stupid sometimes. “It means I am sick of watching you wallowing in your ego centred self imposed misery. It means I want a whole man – not some martyr or some chicken hearted aesthete of a monk.”

“I don’t understand you.” She was a beautiful creature on fire. It was a novel experience to see her livid like this. He almost forgot why he was angry with her. The sight of her so indignant decided him. He thought, I want her- today.

He tried so hard to concentrate. She was in full flow now. “Don’t look at me like that. You understand perfectly but you don’t want to hear it. You think you are on edge now? What will happen if you open your heart to hear what you are so thoroughly blocking?” He only realized he was smiling when she said “What are you smirking at? You have had me standing here practically begging but you’re so wrapped up in yourself you have so far failed to notice.”

“You are not making sense”, he whispered. A stray curl had fallen over her cheek and gently he positioned it behind her ear. He watched it to make sure it stayed there as he interrupted the monologue. “I want you to stay here with me today. The long term arrangements can work themselves out.” He saw she was looking up at him with a strange light in her eyes that made him very hopeful for a positive outcome.

“I thought you were supposed to be ill.” She was beginning to smile. “I’m a useless nurse – no skill at all.”

“Pity.” He was leading her from the lounge, gently tugging at her hand. “What are you like on pastoral care?”

For the first time in his adult life Philip experienced absolute personal freedom. It was her complete acceptance of him that he responded to first- her child like delight in him, her curiosity. He found he was no longer sure what was, and what was not, appropriate emotional context between adults. Her tenderness and vulnerability drew those same qualities from him. She wanted nothing and feared nothing.

Over lunch Rhona announced that he seemed to be recovering satisfactorily- despite her robust approach to care-giving. Philip loved the way she used humour to balance profoundly emotional situations. She made them manageable for him without diminishing the occasion. It was one of many qualities he loved in her.

At two thirty he offered to take her home- aware of her responsibilities to Gracie and to her work. He told her how much contentment it gave him to know they could support each other’s individual lives without undervaluing the experiences they would share. 

 She was standing beside his walnut desk, waiting while he put on his jacket and found his discarded keys. He reached across her, brushing against her for the sheer joy of it, delighted that he could openly touch her now.  He opened the top drawer. “One more thing before you go.” He took out a small oblong box and gave it to her. “I was going to give this to you at the opening but I think, under the circumstances, I would prefer you to open it now.”

She looked from him to the box and back again. She thought: it has been an exquisite day. I am completely overcome by him. Aloud she said "If I start bawling now I shall never forgive myself.  I can’t see properly when I do.”

He nodded, his lips curved upwards slightly. “Just open it.”

It was an antique micro-mosaic pendant on a gold spindle-link chain. The graded oval panel depicted Cupid being crowned by a wreath, watched by Venus. It was set in black glass on a gold wire-work mount. Philip took it from her and went behind her to arrange and fasten the clasp. He thought the carriage clock on the desk was unnecessarily loud beside him.

“Not with this outfit,” he advised. “Perhaps with a vintage black dress and a comb in your hair.” He turned her to face him and lifted her chin with his finger. “You are not saying much.”

“No”, she whispered. “I am listening.”

AFTERWORD

 The Opening was packed so it was not until the crowd cleared, late in the evening, that Bill had a chance to speak to Rhona alone.

“Well you have come a long way. Congratulations. I’m sorry about the other day I…” Philip had come up beside her, with a light touch at the back of her waist. Bill continued. “Phil I’m glad you materialised because this concerns you too. I wanted to say I know I messed up the other day and I want to put that behind us. I brought this for you. I’ll give it to Rhona, but it’s for both of you. Something to mark your new- ah- new partnership.” Rhona took the box and reached up to his shoulder. Bill bent down to hug her tightly.

It was one of his magnificent carved kauri balls. This was bigger than the other one that Philip had seen, being about the size of a cricket ball. It too was carved with interlacing forms, but this time they were human figures, sinuous like seals, male and female.

 In the places where the wood was pierced, interlinking snakes appeared below and between the figures. Rhona looked up from it to see the two men embracing as long separated brothers do when reunited.

Aunt Grace came forward, on Charlie’s arm.  Rhona passed the ball to her without speaking. Graced nodded as she examined it. “Yes. His finest yet I think. He is drawing from the life at last – you all are.”