Thursday, November 18, 2010
Gazing in Dementiaville
When Romeo and I first met, we would sit on the couch for hours, facing each other, gazing into each other's eyes. We gazed until one or both of us started to cry, and after we became quiet, we began the gaze again.
Why we did this, neither of us really knew. We simply did what our intuitions told us. We were drawn to gaze into each other's eyes, so that's what we did. It seemed to be a way for us to connect even more deeply with each other. Something magical happened when we connected eye-to-eye for long periods of time. We exchanged some sort of mystery of our souls when we held each other's gaze.
It's not so much that we saw the other's longing, desire, hope, pain, depth -- although we certainly did. It was more that we saw the other in totality. Our gazing seemed to take each beyond the other. (See Behind Blue Eyes, or Divine Dementia.) We certainly saw the beauty in each other. We saw eternity through each other. And it seems that some part of us knew that we were in for a rough ride. Two highly entrained souls, using each other as a mirror, not quite realizing that each is beauty, each is eternity, each is mirror.
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gazing
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