I wanted to call this piece "The Best Summer of My Life," but am afraid that sounds too sophomoric--albeit it's literally true--so I will instead name it after Nan Robertson's book of the same title about her experiences getting sober. She was the New York Times writer who also lost her finger tips to Toxic Shock Syndrome, although I don't know where that fits into her narrative, perhaps a sidebar chapter, like Rough Patch.
In any event, here I pay tribute to two of the greatest friends one could ever hope to encounter in one lifetime. The beautiful and brilliant lady in black is my Guardian Angel, who for now needs must remain nameless (although, I must say, that schmatta tied around her sore wrist is quite the directional clue for the hidden-reference-aphiles amongst us.) How such a divine synergy could have brought her and I together at such an absolutely crucial juncture in my life can only be attributed to being in a state of grace. May I say dear one, should you happen to be reading this, I am at my happiest when I am in your presence.
But about the fellow John, hereto forth email@example.com, I can speak a bit more openly perhaps. Originally hailing from a noted narco-state, he spent twenty years studying Eastern body work and Ayurvedic massage in Geneva and elsewhere, and he now domiciles in a Central American nation known for its friendly US relations, which is where we made his acquaintance. He has been our guest for the past six weeks, sharing his profound and sensitive healing modalities with us.
And what an extraordinary experience it has been! Having on a weekly basis what we are calling sacred treatments, for three-hour massage are words too course to describe what we undergo at his hands, has been the most progressive and accumulative spiritual healing experience of my lifetime. How ever did I get so much trauma stored in my hip flexors I wonder? I am too young to have danced the Watusi.
I frequently reference these treatments as "better than any sex I've ever had"--which in my case, isn't saying all that much, as my sex life hasn't been so exemplary. However, other's whom we have shared John's gift with say the same thing, and some of those I suspect have scored better.
This is the future ahead of us--the way humans were meant to connect physically, but have been denied by centuries of misguided Judeo-Christian nonsense, with its genital-centric and penetration-phobic framework. My imagined Grecian roots could easily call this a sort of thing temple prostitution--healing for dollars, in other words, all for the glory of God.
When I read the foul and mean intercourse between so-called 9/11 truth seekers, such as the likes of CIT and JREF, I can take comfort in my staying well out of the fray. May God continue to bless the true seekers after peace and justice. In my "splendid isolation" as a 9/11 truth advocate, I'll continue to believe that my life unfolding in this fashion constitutes positive feedback that I am on the right course.
And if I tempt fate by sharing my blessings, so be it.
P.S. JREF and CIT must be getting paid by the word.