Compliments

My gym partner, "Bruce," is a hot little number: smaller than me, shoulders like heaps of rope, his ass looks like it could crack walnuts, and he has a sexual aggressiveness that turns me on from afar. We fooled around once six years ago, but it didn't work out. Besides the fact that we're both bottoms (not a big problem by itself), I'm a cuddler and Bruce is from the don't-touch-me-just-fuck-me school.

Apart from that he's a nice guy, a massage therapist. I'd love to let those strong hands work my muscles (that's probably how he diffuses his need for touch), but Bruce's business is so successful he's not taking any new clients. Besides, I couldn't afford it. Sometimes I speculate about playing on his terms just for the helluvit.

Anything more would be out of the question, anyway. Bruce is always in a hurry, always impatient with the car ahead of him or the dawdling gas station attendant. We have great talks about life, sex and love, but he would drive me crazy in anything more than quick, potent doses.

He just drives me to the gym two or three times a week. We don't work out together. He has a gruelling cardio routine, while I like to lift weights semi-aerobically. I started a couple months ago after nearly a nine month hiatus. We haven't been able to hook up as often as I would like. According to my log, I have lifted weights 10 times since the beginning of March, but I'm making some progress.

"You're looking good, brother," Bruce said when he came downstairs to the weight room to retrieve me this morning. He has never given me a compliment like that before. "You're already losing some weight."

"Actually I haven't lost any weight," I said. "It's just my abs firming up, and my arms have bulked up slightly."

"So what's the occasion? Do you want to look good for Pride?"

"No, I just like how it feels," I said. "I wouldn't mind looking good for the summer, but I want to do it all year round. There are little incentives, like I enjoy swimming more when my muscles are stronger."

"You should get a bike, then you could do more cardio."

"I don't really care to do a lot of cardio. You see how much weight I lose just lifting weights semi-aerobically?"

"Don't you eat much?" he asked as we walked outside.

"I eat plenty. I just have a high metabolism."

"I hate people like you."

"I don't want to lose a lot of weight, anyway," I said. "I like bears after all."

"And here I am slaving away to get a 28-inch waist," said Bruce.

Then he did something else he has never done before: unlocked my door first, before walking around to the other side.

Wars and serenity

The past week, apart from a weekend respite with Danny, I have felt some distress. The effort to change things has awakened the part of me that doesn't want to change. I'm highly distractible. Motivation is at a low ebb. My mind feels cluttered and the apartment has begun to resemble it.

After lunch I took myself down to a picnic pavilion in the park. Enjoying the warm air and bright sun was a bribe for me to make an entry in my handwritten journal. Might as well call them afternoon pages. I reflected on the rebellious creature inside me, wondered whether I should treat it as the enemy.

In A Path With Heart, Jack Kornfield calls for an end to the war within. I must concentrate on acceptance, not looking for enemies. We must bring all the parts of ourselves to the peace table.

The rebel is the part that loves simplicity and solitude, that criticizes our society's obsession with productivity and consumption. It seeks peace and compassion. I must honour this voice, find a place for it in whatever comes.

After writing three pages I went and meditated by the river. Journaling airs all the laundry. Meditation folds it and puts it away again. The water filled my eyes with ripples and light.





I wish I could have taken all the terrorists, politicians and victims of abuse, leading them one by one to seats by the water, telling them to be quiet and look at the Eramosa River for 15 minutes. Or close their eyes and listen to the robins, finches, vireos and rose-breasted grosbeaks calling in the woods. It might not do any good in the long run, but at least it would give us 15 minutes of serenity to process our feelings about recent world events.

Behind the cut is an even more peaceful photo taken at the pond yesterday afternoon, with rain clouds looming across the sky and, if only you could hear it, an eerie chorus of a few dozen toads. This image required a larger size.

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My good news of the day: this morning I talked to the specialist. I have an appointment on May 21.