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Miss Demure Restraint’s Journal
Written in late December 2007 or early January 2008
I honestly don’t remember.

What words would ever be adequate to describe Luke? Brilliant comes to mind. I mean that in the way you refer to a great artist or notable intellect. He has both in him. And as with all remarkable people known and unknown, he isn’t like everybody else. He is a mad man. His “insanity” is part of his charm (for me anyway). However, it also drives him to constant motion across the geography of the world and his life. He is truly an unbound spirit. Strictly as a personality, I admire him greatly and enjoy his company immensely.

We met and the chemistry was explosive. It certainly wasn’t like anything I had experience before. The physical connection was mind-blowing and more than a little scary. It was intense on a level I had never imagined. There is no ladylike way to say this, so . . . the sex seemed the best on the planet, maybe in the universe! He truly rocked my world in a very real sense.

Have you ever met someone and known them, I mean, really known them from the first moments? Has there ever been a person in your life that moved you both physically and spiritually? He was both for me. In the cosmic consciousness, I believe we have combined and come apart an infinity of times. We shared such unusual things. I’m sure he and I have met and will meet again through our repeating cycles of existence. We both knew it from the start. We have been doing this over and over and over. The connection is too pronounced. The physical bond so totally natural and effortless, it can only be explained in that we have been together before. Further, my sense of what was coming was much too strong.

Luke gave me a gift that I will forever love him for. He put me back in touch with my artistic muses. I don’t know if it was just being in the presence of his aura (he does broadcast an amazing energy) or if it was the completing of the restoration of my sensual self, but that part of me that was holding captive all my creative potential released. He helped me find again that part of myself that I have always loved best. Now that I have it back I will guard, nurture, and cherish it. (If I never told you, Babe, thanks.) I wrote two pieces very specifically for him. Both were prophetic. The first was a “letter” and the second a poem.

It seemed from the beginning, one, the other or both of us were hell bent on torpedoing any possibility of a relationship. I freaked out after the first night we were together. We were supposed to meet the next day, but I was so shaken I canceled. I figured that would be the end of it, but it wasn’t. He called on a Sunday evening a week or two later and I didn’t say no. We spent two amazing days together. That is when I knew without doubt that we had been together before. It was effortless. We had a blast.

After that it was the most off and on thing I could imagine. Basically, we would grow distant during the week. He had his angst and I had my job. We were both seeing other people, too. Still somehow we would end up together at least one night each weekend. During this time, I started writing again. I was working on a narration based on what I was feeling at the time. It was dark and pessimistic. I had finished it, but had no title for it. I got my title when I checked his blog site and he had made a posting a few days before. It was titled “Letter to my best friend.” Basically, it talked about dumping me (and somebody else) in his tormented attempt to maintain his sanity . . . women and writing being the bane of his existence. It took me a couple of days to get set up, but Letter to My Almost Perfect Lover was my first posting for Miss Demure Restraint’s Weblog.

So with both of our declarations posted for the world and each other to see, I stopped to pick something up from his apartment. It was fully my intent that it would be the last time I would see him. It didn’t work out that way and yet it did. We spent nine consecutive unbelievable days together in a world of our own and then we stopped seeing each other. I wrote the poem the morning after what would turned out to be our Last Night together. I didn’t know when I wrote it that it was to be so prophetic.

It was true. I had “sadly” watched him sleep that last night and was almost overwhelmed by the fact that I didn’t know why it hurt so. The next evening it was over. If art imitates life, then what is it when art predicts life? I knew because we have done this many times before, enough for me to feel it coming even when I had no reason to expect it.

Ours was never intended to be a relationship. At this moment in time, I doubt I will see Luke again in this life. I know at the deepest roots of my being, that is not the end for us. We are destined to keep colliding with one another for good or ill. I do know in this life, he has been a spiritual teacher, a catalyst, not a fixture. Everything is just exactly as it should be.

Draw what conclusions you will. It was one of the most remarkable chapters in my life. For now, that’s my tormented, anguished, brooding beatnik.

Another hard lesson from my buddy . . . life. It would seem I have got to make some choices. It had been my intent to start a second blog of my journals, postings longer than I like to do here. I went so far as to set up the site. The plan was to spend my recovery time after surgery writing in general and specifically organizing the journals to make them ready for posting. Swing and a miss. I’m not sure what I was thinking. I know I can’t write under medication. I should have known that script is script, whether it be pain meds or bipolar meds.

I still thought I might manage it once I got my feet back under me, but then the unexpected happened. I seemed to have found the fulfillment of one of my other dreams. I meet a man and we are in love. No big surprise to any that have read this blog in the last couple of months. My God, I was a dribbling idiot for awhile. Its all good, at least I was writing something.

So now between working ten hours shifts, trying to maintain some kind of workout schedule, practice my yoga, make somewhat regular posts here, keep my house so that my OCD doesn’t manifest, write in my journals, participate in a couple of writing projects with others, pursue some spiritual growth, spend time with my love and do the other thousand things I have in my life, I have to be honest and admit I do not have time for another blog.

I admit a certain sadness, but I am so very blessed in my life at the moment that this is nothing. I could just leave it out there dormant until something changed or I found time. Still, there is something heartbreaking about that empty blog sitting with nothing but the mention that someone hopes to get to it someday. So, I’ve decided to delete it.

As with all things though, there’s a flip side. I don’t have to give it up completely. I have several entries ready that aren’t so long that I can’t post them here. I’m sure in the future there will be more. So I say both farewell and hello to Miss Demure Restraint’s Journal.

I go along, thinking I’m making such progress and then life throws me a couple of curve balls to keep me honest. I just don’t know how to act or respond in a gracious and refined manner most of the time. I tend to be reactive, not proactive. So, when conflicted by a situation these days, I thought to try stepping back, but not out. Today, I made a realization about my “back, not out” strategy. It works, but as usual, not as I expected and most definitely not the same way each time.

There was a great tragedy in my man’s life recently . . . his sister was randomly murdered by a stranger. There were so many emotions and responses that welled up inside me. Outrage at the senselessness of the cosmic plan. Pain that the one I care deeply for had lost someone he loved. Lost in how to help him through his suffering. I stepped back and didn’t try to analyze it, feel it, control it. I didn’t act on or blurt out any of the random responses that scurried through my mind. Rather I let him do what he must and made sure he knew I would be there should he need anything. I let him go to process his feelings and make peace with his heartbreak.

He has gone off to both mourn with his family and deal with the business details of death. Though I want so to be the one that comforts him, I have been able to see that the relationship is too young and our time together too short. I’m okay with being the life he has to return to once he has come to terms with his loss. I learned that sometimes we have to release not only the ones we love, but also our own selfish needs. Its not enough to accept another without judgment. You have to be willing to let them follow their path even when it diverges from your own. He will return to me when he is done, no conditions or timeline. When he is ready, we will continue our journey together.

Writing is my outlet, how I purge the negative, contemplate the illusion, and celebrate the joys. I resolve through my writing. In crafting the words, I come to understand better both myself and my reality. Should my words touch someone now and then, it is a joy to feel that connection, that sharing, that momentary reintegration with the prevailing oneness. I write for the love of it and by the compulsion of it. Without it I am not complete, but it is still only a part of me.

Here in this blog I have exposed the product of processing my thoughts as I’ve dealt with them. The words are not a literal accounting, rather the means to evoke a feeling, impart an experience, share a knowing. This place is the time capsule that preserves the moments as they happen. I have not edited or held back to maintain a persona or keep from offending people that may see themselves in the words and misconstrue my intent . . . until just recently.

It was stupid really. I sense it is a game, but it impacted me nonetheless. It was a confrontation I easily could have missed. As karma would have it, there was something for me to learn, so it was brought to my attention. I didn’t know how to react, so I stepped back. This time though the compromise was to my integrity, not my ego. I wrote as I do to sort out my feelings, but I did not post. I’ve spent significant time thinking about why. What I have come to realize is that I was censuring myself again, worrying about another’s perception. I had stepped back from the situation, but I consequently stepped back from being true to myself and my promise not to return to those old ways of retreat and isolation.

I’ve decided its time to step back in. I’ve made the decision to post those things I wrote and continue posting regardless someone else’s paranoia. That’s what’s right for me and others will have to just get over themselves. I don’t have this blog to impress people, sway others to a cause, gain recognition, or seduce anyone. This is the reminder of the journey I keep for myself and share with others as our paths cross and intertwine. This is the jewelry box were I store my Demure Pearls. Think what you may . . .

“This is Demure’s domain and she reigns here . . . I challenge you to permit the words to touch you . . . Demure demands the emotions seize you. She and I encourage you to love it, hate it, praise it, condemn it, cherish it, reject it, feel anything you want to about it, except indifference. Here it is safe to examine the hope and the pain — raw, unrefined — and to cry or laugh. Here you can freely wander through the emotional morass of love and life in the extreme. Here you can contemplate the disturbing, arousing, moving, illuminating wonder that is her domain. Here you are invited to look into yourself and Demure will happily be your guide.”

I have met some of the most wonderful, caring, understanding and supportive people of my life through this blog.  I never imagined what was here.  When I started this I was totally unaware of the potential to become part of such an amazing community of artists.  Yes, bloggers are artists!  Now it is like a home to me.  Here I rant and rave, cry and laugh, hope and dream, comfort and am soothed in return.  Here I am what I would someday be in the real world . . . just me! 
Update . . . My medical crisis was, in fact as many of you surmised . . . a lack of sensitivity on the part of my healthcare provider.  I will be undergoing an outpatient surgery procedure next week, but I’m strong and healthy.  I’m more resolved with my emotional status than ever before in my life.  That is because of my friends in the electronic world.  For the first time in my life, I KNOW there are people like me.  People that feel like me, think like me, and will be there for me. 
Thank you for your support.  You know who you are.  If you are new here, please see my Blogroll.  There are the links to my cyber neighborhood, the friends that have come to mean so very much to me.  Bless you all for your kindness and friendship.

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August 2022