My Love, My Revolutionary

It seemed I had stumbled onto a territory where the regime in governance was founded on the pillars of calloused consciences and hard hearts, objectification and lies at every cost for the sake of and for pure self-service.

At 25 years, I still had never been in a romantic relationship. To be clear, let me say that, to me, being in a relationship was as equal and big a dream as being a singer, writer, fashion designer, healer, world missionary who lives in New York.

A young man, a couple of years my senior, expressed his interest and pursued relentlessly.  He called, expressed “kindness”and said wonderful things to my ears until I gave in.

Although this recall of events is not much about the details of the relationship, and what hurtful and harmful things resulted, it is to say five men later, much like him, much like him – the system, its implementation, its process and the ends – have all been the same. Wolves covered in sheep skin, they all were. Telling all the lies thinkable to convince an unsuspecting, untiringly good person like me, wanting love, into some sort of relationship.  All for the sake of carnal self-satisfaction.

Am I jaded, cynical and bitter? No. This is to clearly report how it was and what it was, now that I have sorted through it all. Thank the gift of retrospect.

More relevant and of more recent events, however, is the main reason of this recount. A good report indeed. I am 28 years now and a revolutionary appeared on the scene challenged and overthrew the regime spoken of earlier.  How I admire his courage. He came on the scene, saw their weapons but knew he had already won. His weapons were different.  They were tenderness, transparency and kindness. Truthfully so.

How I admire this recent change. It is this text, sent in a quiet moment of reflection, that I now sit and read over and over:

“Do you know that, as you stand, personal to me and specific to part of my life story, you are an icon of revolution?  I cannot comprehend the sudden release from prior oppression but I am truly grateful that you dared to be unusually bold and as tender as you have been.  Thank you for your courage.”

Yes, it is to the man I love. ‘Coming correct’ as they say. He was straightforward. He waited. He was gentle.  He respected. He was genuine. He courted. He afforded the needs and wants. None of which were material. He upheld his and my dignity. He did not harm. I suspect that most important it is that he did not shift nor trample my boundaries.

I watch now as he quietly builds a temple informed by tenderness and sensitivity and based on expanding true love. He carefully places vulnerability and gentleness on top of the foundation of love. He waits, patient for days for things to settle. He then continues with the truth, dignity and fun all beautifully laden. Meekness: a restrained strength is our roof. Meekness, that inherited him me and me him.

He is my revolutionary. Beaming and proud in the sunset, we sit and admire what he has built, admire what in the midst of much hopelessness, he dared to resurrect: the good thing – love.