Chapter 44
I Believe I’m In Love With Both Of You.
That joyous day of manful meditation put me on some kind of a big time open the doors of the Aron Kodesh (the cabinets where the holy books are kept at temple), you have moved to the next level, onward and upward hot damn manful spiritual roll. I couldn’t wait to hit the mancave again the next morning for another session of MM.
Following the departure of she who is usually gone by 8 but who had left that day by 7:15 after downing her traditional breakfast of a big strong cup of coffee (with milk), some crackers and some cheese I was ready to rock and roll. And no, I couldn’t survive on that diet either, but somehow she does it day in day out, claiming it keeps her skinny. I certainly enjoy the results.
My early in the day (hey it wasn’t even 8 yet) enthusiasm for another MM session surprised me, but maybe it shouldn’t have considering the wonderful subject matter at hand. So I made a quick breakfast of a lightly toasted sesame bagel covered with cheddar cheese and tomato salsa and wondered gleefully about where my bubbling subconscious would guide my deepest male thoughts today. What feminine beauty awaits me?
I consecrated myself with a second dark sweet black double espresso and headed to the mancave. Once there I planted myself on the cushin’ so quickly that I kind of tweaked my left knee, light pain but manageable. But I didn’t care and immediately closed my eyes. Deep down I knew what I am going to meditate about and as such there was little doubt about the result that followed.
The choice of subject was so easy. The next segment of this manful meditation journey began with a riddle that I asked myself:
‘Riddle me this oh Zen joker: When is a pear not a pear? A melon not a melon? When?’
When I imagine the glory of a beautiful female breast, that is when, I answered.
I smiled a Cheshire cat’s grin that wasn’t going to disappear. I was ready to gaze upon the second great temple of a woman’s body, another test of manly concentration, skill and focus. A time to see what has been learned in my practice and how strong my dedication to contemplation is. Time to go deep!
Sitting quietly now, I clear the mind, draw in my first couple of deep breaths and then boom, without warning and way way early in the process, boom, multiple images of countless breasts come showering into my mind like a flock of a thousand beautiful tropical birds swirling upwards into tall tropical banyan trees circling in vortex up and up towards a deep blue sky. I am amazed. There is no hesitation starting the engine today. I begin the meditation revving my personal engine over 4500 rpm and heading towards the redline.
The sheer variety of shapes, sizes and colors in the vision is awe-inspiring, almost staggering. There as many kinds of breasts as there are eyes and noses. Eventually this swirling visual parade of mammary glory slows and my vision clears and simplifies. Now, they float above me in pairs cast against a bright blue imaginary sky, very Pythonesque. Some are large pendulous heavy and seemingly ripe as cantaloupes. Others are tight and tiny with nipples poking straight out red as Bing cherries. Many others are upturned and brown as fine leather. In my mouth I taste the sweetness of a mejdool date and the hardness of the seed, I don’t know why. The mind should not be constrained here. It wanders freely, this is not time to hold it back.
So many beautiful images come wandering into this meditation. My mind moves back and forth alternately excited and wondering what will happen next. I don’t wait long, it is easy to go further. I shoot for another perfect manful meditation moment and it comes easy. I think of the instant that a beautifully formed breast peaks out from underneath a tight white cotton shirt or the instant when you reach behind her back and unhook her bra and they fall gloriously free in all of their beauty to look at and enjoy.
Now in my mind’s eye I reach out and touch them. I remember how a particular pair that stand out in my memory felt. And I honor the spirit of the first pair that I was lucky enough to get my hands on. Better than I ever dreamed.
The rest of the meditation seems pretty easy. The discipline in this exercise is keeping my manful monkey mind on the focus of exercise, i.e. her breasts and holding thoughts on that subject only. It is hard to keep my mental hands from moving down her waist towards her stomach but somehow I do. It feels like hours pass in manful contemplation.
I am at total peace in blissful male harmony when I hear a faint voice calling out. It is clearly female and she is singing. It is wispy, high-pitched talented intelligent but girlish. Where is this voice coming from? What is she doing in the middle of my manful breast meditation? Who is it? Who is she? It keeps going. Hey, I know this voice. I see an image. It is a pale tall wispy sort of blonde, freckles, blue eyes. Is that Joni Mitchell? It is! What song is she singing? I know that one, it is from her Blue album, that sad disc of self-deprecating sensitive depression? What is she doing here? What the fuck is happening to my simple perfect MM world?
Then things begin to get weird but I do my best to follow the way and embrace the weirdness without getting lost in it and let me tell you, it ain’t easy. I hear folksy acoustic guitars, choruses of female matriarchal voices, feel shades of depression, then responsibility and oh shit, now the visuals of the breasts are starting to really change. Gone are the objects of my inner desires. Instead now I see maternity bras stuffed with breasts exploding with milk, swollen, red and painful. I see images my wife feeding our children at home years and years ago. Then I see sets of angry eyes and faces from women who resent being looked at boobs first when we stare too long and too hard. The Joni soundtrack doesn’t stop either, now she is riding her power, her jazz compositions, her Hejira the sounds of Wayne Shorter and Jaco Pastorius as they mix with her voice, her art, the strength of a woman in place and at peace who took the male sexual role and handed it right back as she saw fit.
Next I hear the collective voices of generations of Berkeley women telling me to respect their minds respect their minds in a repetitive chant. I feel the fear that our unbridled passion can bring when unchecked that leads to their resentment. I try to stop resenting the women that hate the love we feel for their bodies and try to understand them.
It keeps going. I see massive balloon like breast implants floating into the skies with strings attached to them, a series of light brown and beige oblong balloons surrounded by scores of flying floating push up bras that dance like flocks of sparrows. I realize that I hate what we have done to the purity of the female body.
I begin to tire. I search for a balance between the pain and the pleasure and eventually it comes to me and my mind goes silent again. The complexities and anxieties disappear as I settle back down. Finally after an unknown amount of time spent in a silent recovery, I quietly and easily float out and open my eyes. I am exhausted but happy.
That afternoon after my first bike ride this winter, taking advantage of a dry cold spell, I return to find a short email reply from the owner of the food business who I have been introduced to. He will be out of town, but has seen my resume and wants to talk sometime next month on his return. That seems just fine. He sounds strangely normal business like, focused. It must be an act.
All of this inspires me to hit the kitchen hard and make dinner. The afternoon passes quickly in a blur of chopping, mixing and cooking, white dog benefits from many falling bits of onions, cilantro and chicken that find their way to her table on the kitchen floor. I am working on one of my favorite dishes, chicken enchiladas in a green tomatillo sauce. The music is on, I am playing Jimmy Reed really really loud the blues dripping pre rock and roll open chords bounce off of the kitchen walls. My mood is scarily upbeat.
While chopping the onion my mind goes back to the meditation. It really is difficult for men to find balance in their relationships with women when it comes to the subject of attraction. Women want men to be attracted to their bodies, that is a given, but not ‘too’ attracted. We are asked to get excited about them but not to wolf whistle. For the most part, it is expected that we will keep our feelings locked up until that private moment. Maybe women can do this but for me, and I think most men, if you don’t keep the fire burning it goes out. It is a tough balance to maintain when you have Chris Rock standing one shoulder talking to you about sex during marriage and Gloria Steinem on the other. Lost in thought I am shocked to reality by pain in my index finger and see blood dripping onto the cutting board. I have a nice sized nick and it is going to bleed for a long time. Symbolic? Who knows. More than likely just an accident.
When she who does not come home early does come home on time, I kiss she who has not been kissed at the door for a long time the minute she walks in that door and hand her a dozen dark blue/purple closed stem Iris, her favorite.
“What’s gotten into you?” she asks after she takes the flowers. Then she looks deeply in my eyes. Maybe be she sees something different in there. Maybe it is my suddenly reborn testosterone level.
“Just what are you meditating about these days?” she asks.
I just smile.
How the hell did she know?
Chicken enchilada Verde for the lazy man
A quick hitter that makes you look good.
12 tortillas.
1 roasted rotisserie chicken (this saves lots of time and can be store bought).
1 pound grated jack or cheddar or mixed Mexican style cheese
1 onion
1 large or 2 small jars of green salsa of your choice
1 carton sour cream.
Frying pan and oil for frying.
Baking dish.
Chop the onion. Sauté until brown.
Using your hands, strip the meat from the chicken.
If you are feeling normal, reserve the carcass for stock. If lazy, throw it away.
In a pan heat oil.
Dip each tortilla and wait until soft.
Remove and fill with cheese, chicken and onions.
Roll into cigar shape and place in baking dish.
Repeat with all 12 tortillas.
Make sure you reserve enough cheese to put a layer over the tortillas.
Cover with green salsa.
Bake at 350 for 20 minutes or until cheese has begun to brown.
Remove and spoon sour cream on top.
Serve with beer, whole pinto beans and rice.
Random music to cook with while thinking of women.
Can’t touch this. MC Hammer
Ebb Tide. The Righteous Brother.
Big Balls or You shook me all night long. AC/DC.
Oh, Pretty Woman. Albert King.
Pretty Woman, Roy Orbison
Soul Sister, Alan Toussaint
Sexomtaic. The Bar Keys.
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