Fearless.

[bouquiniste]

TL/DR: There's almost certainly nothing for you here, and to be positively ingenuous (can one be negatively ingenuous, or, for that matter, positively disingenuous?), my control of the English language is insufficient even unto the task of rendering this ad entertaining. Sic ego dixi vobis.




I suppose that this is more an exercise than anything else, since this won't generate even a single reply, but I thought that I'd set this down here regardless, just so that I could look at it now and again, and smile.

The dictionary defines the word, "fearless," very simply: "lacking fear," but what does it really mean? I suppose that's one of those truisms which turns out to be true after all. "Fearlessness," defines itself.

Long ago, a Friend asked me which I thought was rarer - true Love or fearlessness, and I asserted then - and maintain still - that true Love is the rarest of the elements of Humankind, but that fearlessness finishes a very close second. Few people ever find true Love, but without being absolutely fearless, it will be forever beyond their grasp.

Why is it that men are drawn to a fearless woman, and then - when they learn that her fearlessness is genuine - they run off as fast as they can?

<laughter>

Come on now - you know the reason as well as I do: fear.

They're rare as h*ll, you know - truly fearless people; I've known three of them - all completely different, and all exactly alike. They don't define themselves in terms of being brave or courageous or faithful or steadfast, because Time - "still a-flying," of course - has taught them that those traits are simply facets cut upon the whole of a single stone.

That a fearless woman embraces - rather than simply accepts - certain aspects of herself and of her Self probably goes without needing to be said; by Nature, she lives in the active voice, rather than in the passive voice.

One supposes that here in this central blank space (of course, by the time you read this, this space won't be blank at all, will it?) The Obligate Litany Of All Things must appear, as it seems ever to do in personal ads. "You must be curvy." "You must not be curvy." "You must be submissive." "You must not be submissive." "You must have tattoos." "You must not have tattoos." "You must call me 'Master Squealy-Pig' at all times, unless I am wearing a purple shirt, at which time, you must call me, "your excellent excellency, sir," or unless I am wearing a plaid shirt, at which time, you must call me, "Mæstro Zandernof Pubes," or unless I am wearing a plain white shirt, at which time, you must call me, "Joseph."

Enough foolishness, eh? Needs and wants? Everything. Each knows that they need this; both know that the other desires it. A simple matter of supply and demand, save that both Lovers require both romance and intimacy - not simple physical intimacy, but the intellectual, emotional and Spiritual intimacy which exist when there are no secrets - nor any boundaries - whatsoever - when every thought is voiced, and every word and every act, is written and spoken and given and taken in Love.

If you enjoy simply having sex, this is definitely not for you. If you'd willfully - not simply willingly - wait patiently for the chance to make Love with or to a Lover who not only comprehended the difference, but who felt exactly as you did, just pretend that I'm wearing a plain white shirt.





Hey! Hey! Where are you going? Come back here! What are you afraid of?

Oh, wait - I know: "everything."

 

[lanceGibs]

TL/DR: There's almost certainly nothing for you here, and to be positively ingenuous (can one be negatively ingenuous, or, for that matter, positively disingenuous?), my control of the English language is insufficient even unto the task of rendering this ad entertaining. Sic ego dixi vobis.




I suppose that this is more an exercise than anything else, since this won't generate even a single reply, but I thought that I'd set this down here regardless, just so that I could look at it now and again, and smile.

The dictionary defines the word, "fearless," very simply: "lacking fear," but what does it really mean? I suppose that's one of those truisms which turns out to be true after all. "Fearlessness," defines itself.

Long ago, a Friend asked me which I thought was rarer - true Love or fearlessness, and I asserted then - and maintain still - that true Love is the rarest of the elements of Humankind, but that fearlessness finishes a very close second. Few people ever find true Love, but without being absolutely fearless, it will be forever beyond their grasp.

Why is it that men are drawn to a fearless woman, and then - when they learn that her fearlessness is genuine - they run off as fast as they can?

<laughter>

Come on now - you know the reason as well as I do: fear.

They're rare as h*ll, you know - truly fearless people; I've known three of them - all completely different, and all exactly alike. They don't define themselves in terms of being brave or courageous or faithful or steadfast, because Time - "still a-flying," of course - has taught them that those traits are simply facets cut upon the whole of a single stone.

That a fearless woman embraces - rather than simply accepts - certain aspects of herself and of her Self probably goes without needing to be said; by Nature, she lives in the active voice, rather than in the passive voice.

One supposes that here in this central blank space (of course, by the time you read this, this space won't be blank at all, will it?) The Obligate Litany Of All Things must appear, as it seems ever to do in personal ads. "You must be curvy." "You must not be curvy." "You must be submissive." "You must not be submissive." "You must have tattoos." "You must not have tattoos." "You must call me 'Master Squealy-Pig' at all times, unless I am wearing a purple shirt, at which time, you must call me, "your excellent excellency, sir," or unless I am wearing a plaid shirt, at which time, you must call me, "Mæstro Zandernof Pubes," or unless I am wearing a plain white shirt, at which time, you must call me, "Joseph."

Enough foolishness, eh? Needs and wants? Everything. Each knows that they need this; both know that the other desires it. A simple matter of supply and demand, save that both Lovers require both romance and intimacy - not simple physical intimacy, but the intellectual, emotional and Spiritual intimacy which exist when there are no secrets - nor any boundaries - whatsoever - when every thought is voiced, and every word and every act, is written and spoken and given and taken in Love.

If you enjoy simply having sex, this is definitely not for you. If you'd willfully - not simply willingly - wait patiently for the chance to make Love with or to a Lover who not only comprehended the difference, but who felt exactly as you did, just pretend that I'm wearing a plain white shirt.





Hey! Hey! Where are you going? Come back here! What are you afraid of?

Oh, wait - I know: "everything."

interesting

 

[Jada59]

I hear ya. I am generally pretty fearless. I can be too much for some people. But that's okay. I am who I am. I own it.

 

[bouquiniste]

Lagniappe:

Chuck Yeager: "You know, I'm a fearless man, but I'm scared to death of you."

Glennis Yeager: "Oh, no, you're not - but you ought to be."





Everything is everything; "is" means "means."





Belief and faith and trust are three different things, although we often use those words interchangeably. Belief is pretty easy - it's intellectual - "I believe that he can manage that." Faith is a whole lot harder - it's emotional - you have to believe in you mind and in your Heart; "I have faith in her ability." Trust... aye, there's the rub; trust is Spiritual. You have to believe something in you mind, and know it in your Heart. As a concept, it's an absolute.

They're like three wild rivers when you're there by yourself. Belief is pretty scenic, though it might have a few trials here and there. The Fawn, maybe - or the Severn or the Abitibi. Faith is more like the Missinaibi; it's tough and challenging, and right there in the middle is Thunderhouse Falls. Don't miss the portage. Trust is the Seal or maybe even the Thlewiaza; nothing but haystacks and rocks until you're just about into Hudson Bay, where the white Bears lie in wait for you, but there's no extra charge for the Aurora.

You'll be lying in bed some night and she'll come to you - softly and gently and quietly. She'll hold herself against you for a long time, giving up those little whispers and feeling your warmth against her, and then you'll hear that little sound. You'll look up and see the gleam of steel in the moonlight as the razor lies open in her hand, and once more, you'll lie as still and as calm as you can, waiting.

She'll trace the contour of your shoulder with her fingers, you'll feel the steel then - cold and unyielding, and you'll know that this is the thing you hate most in all the world. Maybe you'll turn away so that you can't see - and maybe you won't. The agony is delayed a little - the mind takes a moment to gather it in, and by then, you'll feel the wetness of her mouth against the wetness that she's wrought there in that place between desire and fulfillment, and you'll know that this is the thing you Love most in all the world.

It's pure Spirit, that desire of two Lovers each to grow into the other, and it isn't any different when it's her lying there so sweet and calm, and you holding the razor - it's always part and parcel to belonging and to trust, and to the need to be a part of one another. It's a train that goes on for a thousand miles, and stops every mile or so to let people off. You can travel just as far as you wish to - the fare is always the same - the only difference is that the closer you get to the end of the line, the brighter the world becomes.

Hey! Hey! Where are you going? Come back here! What are you afraid of?

Oh, wait - I remember: "everything."

 

[bouquiniste]

Noah put the animals into the ark, two by two, and then the rains came. It rained for forty days and forty nights, and then the ark washed up at the top of Mount Ararat. The waters receded, and the two tigers got out and walked away.

You can be anything in Life that you choose to be. Be a tiger.

 

[bouquiniste]

I've had a number of lovely responces to this little ad so far, and every one a tribute to the kindness and respectfulness and the good manners of other Litsters - and every one answered privately, but it's time to acknowledge the people who comprise this site. Stand up and take a bow, each and every one of you.

It seems that every other thing you read is about true Love, but you see it only but seldom in Life. People seem to think that it just happens spontaneously, like two pancakes being dropped too close to each other on a griddle, and spreading toward one another until their edges touch, and they become a single entity. Sometimes good things do simply happen by accident, but generally, the best things need a little coaxing and a lot of work. It's the same with liking people, really. There are lots of reasons that we like others - and lots of reasons that we don't. Heck - there are a lot of reasons why you won't like me.

If you think that just writing checks for the animal shelters near you at Christmastime, rather than going there in person with a bag of toys and some treats, and meeting the unfortunate residents there who're hoping against all odds that they find a home - and if you don't leave with a tear in your eye and a Prayer of thanks in your Heart, then you won't like me.

If you like to open your own car door and pull in your own chair at dinner and place your own order; if you think that good manners are old-fashioned and obsolete or that they're somehow misogynistic, then you won't like me.

If you like to holler and argue, to micromanage or to be micromanaged, and forever find something wrong where there really isn't anything wrong at all; if you don't consider kindness a virtue and unkindliness a vice, then you won't like me.

If you don't stand up for others - and especially for the less fortunate, whether two-leggéd or four leggéd - each and every time that you have the chance - until you're the last man - or in this case, the last woman - standing, then you won't like me.

If you believe that familiarity confers the right to treat a Friend or a Lover in a less decent fashion than that with which you would treat a total stranger, then you won't like me.

If you don't like to walk in the Autumn woods now and then or paddle a canoe, or just stop dead in your tracks to marvel at the intricate matrix of Life which surrounds you while a bee pollinates a flower, or when you just sit on the patio late of a Summer's evening to watch the stars wheel 'round the Heavens, then you won't like me.

If you believe that a Relationship can grow into Love without absolute honesty, or by keeping secrets or by failing to say what's genuinely on your mind when your Lover asks you, then you won't like me.

If you crush a bug or a spider in the house rather than getting a jar and seeing them safely outside; if you don't stop on the sidewalk to say hello to a dog being walked, and offer a friendly greeting to his owner, or feed a stray cat who's found her way into your yard, then you won't like me.

If you don't do your best every time you do something - whether just mowing the lawn or cooking dinner or keeping an appointment on time, then you won't like me.

If you think that suffering for a Lover as a measure of expressing devotion - and offering him the same opportunity to express his devotion for you - is unnecessary or foolish or somehow wrong in any way, then you won't like me.

If you think that romance has no place in the world, and that waking up to a note on your pillow written with a battered old Esterbrook fountain pen, or having your hair brushed at bedtime, or your Lover kiss the back of your neck after he fastens your pearls, or sleeping in your Lover's favourite shirt, hold no concrete meaning in Life, then you won't like me.

If you like going out to have a few drinks or smoke a little dope, and just make the world go away for a while, then you won't like me.

If you don't feel that Lovers must be - each to the other - teacher and student; Friend and companion; Brother and Sister and Partner, then you won't like me.

If you can't see Forever from where you are, or if you can, but you don't want to simply reach out and hold it against you, then you won't like me.

If you think that there's something more important in Life than Loving and being Loved, well then, you surely won't like me.

If you're read through this miasma of poorly-chosen words and haphazard phrases and you still can't find a single reason not to respond, just click my name beside this post, and when you choose, "Send A Private Message," from the drop-down menu, tell me something that I won't like about you too, or tell me the colour of some past Lover's favourite shirt which comforted you while he was away. Tell me the sound the sky makes the moment that a Summer shower stops, or your earliest memory. Tell me what your first thought is in the morning, in that sweet half-dream state between always and never. Tell me how you like your toast, or your tea or your coffee. Tell me when the last time was that you cried, and how you felt afterwards. Tell me a joke, tell me how your Lover's fragrance has made you feel when you watched him sleeping beside you. Tell me about you; tell me about me, but don't tell me about Us yet - it's too soon for that - or is it?

 

[bouquiniste]

There's a pit somewhere - I don't know exactly where it is - but everyone's fears are in it: Life and death and everything in between. People walk up near the edge of it, and most can't even look into it. It's ringed with people crying and screaming and covering their face with their hands. They get scared to death, and back away, and then they put wall up between them and the pit, so they don't have to look any more, but the wall doesn't do a thing but make them more and more afraid of what's behind it.

If you've looked in there and you know that it's just an empty pit, why not send me a note? Maybe we could walk out there together some time, and dance around the edge and laugh.