Recently, my husband and I fought. We don't fight often but when we do we light up the sky with fireworks. They scream out a passionate intensity that takes both of us by complete surprise. We try to pretend we are Vulcans in real life. This pretending is more consequential than deliberate. Fire burns brightly within each of us. It is a fire that often burns our fingers and causes others to stand at a distance. We struggle to contain it. We are frightened of it.
Some times we fail to keep the fire in check, hence the pyrotechnic fight. During these fights and sometimes for days afterward, I think to myself, "I am so done. This is so over. I am so out of here."
But I see the fire burning behind the words and I wait for the flames to die down before taking any action. Years of experience have taught this Vulcan that much. The very next time the fireworks explode, I'll scold myself for my inaction. Running always seems easier. When the fireworks end and the memories of the intense heat of standing too close and getting burned, fade away, I am left only with this truth,
"There is no place to run."
I can not run from my own inner fire and from one so like me. I would carry him with me where ever I go whether I want to or not.
Several days after the last embers glow, I begin to see things more clearly. My Vulcan exterior sees what's underneath.
Suddenly, I say to my other half, "One of our biggest problems is that underneath it all we have artistic temperaments."
He looks at me and says, "Yah, I know."
We talk of it no longer. The realization stays with me. The other night it crept into my dreams.
The dream, hazy in all details, except one, my true feelings for my soul mate lie hidden from me until a point of light pierces the darkness and I am flooded with emotion for the object of my affection, the soul mate of my dreams. The Vulcan, within guarding the fire knows that this may not always be true. Almost everything changes and so might this soul mate connection. This I live with easily.
It's the other realization that is much harder to bear. My efforts to hold tightly to my Vulcan facade have come with a great price. I have deprived myself of a depth of feeling, the depth of my own emotions. The Vulcan facade is built of fear. Fearing loss and pain, I have blocked much joy. The artist soul within gently weeps. A sobbing only I can hear echoes in my heart. I mourn all I have missed.
Crushed by the weight of this insight, I'm left wanting to find a better way, a way that walls off less while still keeping the fire within from burning too brightly. Then I see that I am once again the victim of my own feelings. This insight isn't new at all. I have chosen not to see it. I'm holding it tightly until it hurts. I can let it go so that it can walk along side of me.
I started Just 10 because it helped provide my passionate intensity a focus, a way of relating to those that I love in a satisfying and meaningful way. My Vulcan moments punctuate a life of greater balance and insight. The artist within uses exaggeration and hyperbole to sling its message at an imaginary Goliath (or in my case, Klingon or Romulan). All this effort makes me laugh. It's time to try less and simply live more. It's time to just be.
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