Apricity

You are such a solid enigma. Filled with frightful colours, bold and daring and tender and hurt. It’s in your lips and your touch. You touch me with softness, like I am something precious, like I am a darling. Tender and worth loving. 

Listening to Apricity makes me feel like crying now. I knew how it was and where we would leave each other. I stayed present for you, I felt your lips on mine, I felt the intensity of your lips on mine, your body, your weight. The feeling of you, how solid you were. That was amazing. I would have stayed if I hadn’t been learning how to love and respect myself. That’s what it was, but actually it really was a lot of things. I’ve made sense of them. We’re on a path heading towards different patches of blue sky. But I have known your depth, your warmth, your kindness, and in your darkness I see, you’re human. 

I see, I’m human, that we’re all just in this life thing together, even when we’re lonely and coming apart on the floor, in a bottle, in the high, or the pain, or the scars, in the destructive things we do to run, to hide, to feel, to scream in silence, how much are we struggling beneath the weight of our world?

I can feel that, I can feel where mine ends and yours begin, where yours end and mine starts. I’ve met you in all the people I’ve met before you, and I’ll meet you again in the people I haven’t met yet. 

Isn’t that a story? 

When I started writing Apricity, I wrote these words down to anchor what the piece was about; 

The present is past is here is gone. You build stories and worlds out of your identities. Make them beautiful. Make them truthful. Believe in yourself, but give your past a place of acknowledgement. It made you who you are.

I think things always get worse before they get better. Sometimes we do things to show other people that we’re decent human beings. I think all that reveals, is exactly how human we are. Apricity is the warmth of the sun on our skin in Winter. 

You inspired this piece… because in the time we spent together, I felt so much warmth. When I looked for a word to describe the feeling, this was it. You sprinkled sunlight onto my winter soul, you met me in my vulnerability, and said, but I see you, and you are beautiful. In all those moments, you left me a little softer. I’m in a world of my own making. Deeply blue. Softly healed… and not ready to be broken again. I’m going to leave the rawness behind in this piece, for the reason that life… like love, is also messy. And when you’re alone… feeling all the depth of your pain, I hope you take a moment to feel the apricity in this world too.

Apricity

July, 2017

From Merriam-Webster online:

Definition

: the warmth of the sun in winter

About the Word

This word provides us with evidence that even if you come up with a really great word, and tell all of your friends that they should start using it, there is a very small chance that it will catch on. Apricity appears to have entered our language in 1623, when Henry Cockeram recorded (or possibly invented) it for his dictionary The English Dictionary; or, An Interpreter of Hard English Words. Despite the fact that it is a delightful word for a delightful thing it never quite caught on, and will not be found in any modern dictionary aside from the Oxford English Dictionary.

~*~

Sand

When you let go of who you think you are… you might discover who you really are

She weaved her way through the throng of bodies, all undulating, in motion, swaying, some with their eyes closed, some with their eyes open… alert, soft, keen, curious, kind, intense, probing, stiff, present, childlike… the whole array.

She passed him in her periphery and smiled… not at him… but at the presence of him. Tonight eye contact eluded her. 

What was it about eyes? 

Her arm arched over shoulder, momentarily, fingers leading her dance before her hips spun and her feet found the next step, toes grounding into the floor, the muscles in her thigh dutifully supporting her weight. 

They say everything. Everything is sometimes too much. 

She breathed out a sigh, eyes closed, a breath followed by the release of the tension she’d been holding. Tonight her dance resided in the interior of her inner self.

Between bodies, her feet swept the floor and time passed as they danced themselves alive, their sorrows and their joys, their fears and their hopes, their pain and their catharsis, their shadow and their light… into the space of transmutation.

The music brought out the delight of her inner child, as though she was a child jumping on a trampoline in sheer joy… the sheer joy of knowing that feeling again. Her eyes opened for a moment to see bodies in unison… in staccato, in contrary motion. The music brought out the stillness from within, as though time slowed and the space grew silent in prayer and her wounds and her tears crept up to meet her again. The music moved the erotic through her, playful and uninhibited, sweeping into the center of her desire, spinning her like a spiral. The music moved through her intensity with its ferociousness and her body weaved the language it spoke, carrying it through the space. And as the night drew to a graceful close… the music brought the lyrical melody of the infinite and she followed its arc.

Turning, she suddenly found herself eye to eye with him and the shadow of a smile on his face.  

Surprise pulled her lips into a smile before her thoughts could assemble and he returned it with the same grace. As though that was an invitation, they moved together, energy sweeping around their bodies as whatever dance they began to co-create… weaved itself through them and in the space between them. They were the dance and the dancers, lyrical and languid, slow turns and graceful motions… drifting yet energetically intertwined until the music came to a gentle landing and whatever had been created… was in the uncountable depth of his eyes accompanied by his smile.

When you let go of who you think you are… you might discover who you really are. 

It was joy and love and the beauty of connection that she felt. Did her smile and her eyes, too, hold joy, love and the beauty of their connection? She bowed.

Joy continued to uncoil from her belly, rising its way into her heart, into the feeling that was unfurling there and buoyed her for the rest of the evening.

What was it?

She mused as she drove home. The way he moved and connected with her. How curious, that a connection like that created the joy and fulfilment she was feeling.

Respect.

The answer reverberated back to her.

Worthiness, platonic love and respect. 

Sand

Compassion

When it isn’t forgiveness, it is love. Loving the part of you that is hurt, that wants to withhold love, that wants to hurt back. Compassion is saying all those things, to the ghost of other people’s past selves. Compassion, is asking, will saying this, in reality, help my relationship with these people today? No. Then I will not say them. Why do I want to say them? Because I am hurt, I am re-experiencing my pain and I want them to know what their words and actions feel like. But today I do not choose to hurt with my blatant honesty over the past, because to hurt them, I must also continue to hurt myself. Compassion… nobody said, nobody told me, that compassion can be this, choosing to love, the part of you, that is hurt, in those moments when you cannot love those that hurt you, in those moments that you’re struggling with forgiveness again, compassion is love for the places that you are hurt.

Sand