Lotus Blossom

This evening, the UU Sangha that I attend held a Tea Ceremony in honor of their tenth anniversary.  Debbie was in town tonight for the occasion.  In fact – I forget if I ever explained this – Debbie founded this Sangha.  She was a member of the UU congregation and she wanted to incorporate meditation into her church life, so she asked if anybody else wanted to start meditating with her.  That's how it started, back in November 2004.  Some people have been members for the whole time, or for many years, but Debbie began it all.

Of course I knew I'd be seeing her.  I wrote about that last month or so.  And actually I figured it would be fairly easy, all things considered.  After all, I've decided that I don't want to be romantically involved with anybody right now, so the fact that we aren't together is just fine.  Right?  No need for heavy weather.

Maybe I could have guessed that it wouldn't be quite that simple.

Mind you, I behaved myself.  And at first it was simple.  When I got there this evening, she was standing near the door; I walked over, gave her a hug, and asked softly, "Hey there, Lotus Blossom … how ya doing?"  We traded "Fine"s and then took our seats.  And for the duration of the Tea Ceremony I was able to look at whoever was talking and to avoid sneaking glances at her.

But afterwards, she suggested that maybe we should take a little time to talk together.  So I hung out while one after another long-time member of the Sangha came up to give her a hug and tell her how great it was to see her again.  And then, after everyone else had gone and we had locked up, we sat in her car and talked.

We talked a little bit about superficial things, and then got more real.  I told her that I don't want to be involved with anybody right now, and she emphatically agreed: that is to say, she agreed that she herself went through such a phase, that she feels that way strongly now that she is in graduate school, that she expects to feel that way at least until she finishes her program in another couple of years … and that she fully believed way back during our first lunch that this was where I needed to be.  Then with that out of the way we talked about other things: how Son1 and Son2 are doing, how her daughter and son-in-law are doing, whether I will move next year to another office (did I tell you my boss wants to move me across the country?) and how the boys will feel if I leave the town that has been their home their whole lives, how her research is going, whether she'll move to live near her daughter and son-in-law after her classes are over, how soon she'll be a grandmother … a lot about the future, now that I think about it, … about how we feel about the futures that spread out before us.  And we couldn't talk for too long because she had a two hour drive yet tonight to get back to the big city where she lives now, and where her classes are tomorrow morning.

I didn't start to feel the ache until we began to wrap up to say goodbye, until I hugged her (as well as I could in the front seat of a small car) and kissed her cheek and told her to drive safely, until I had to swallow suddenly to keep from blurting out "I will always love you."  But I felt it then.  And I kept feeling it as she drove away and I drove home, overlaid though it was with the pleasant sense of having seen her again and of the meeting having gone well.  And I feel it now, after some food and a beer.  And I'll be feeling it as I go to bed.

Don't I have anything else to drink in this apartment?

It's true that I don't want to be romantically entangled with anybody right now.  It's true, I know it's true, I'm sure it's true.  There's no question in my mind.  Dear God, how I miss her.