The Symposium by Plato, where Aristophanes describes how Zeus felt jealous of the human perfection with four arms and four legs, splitting them into half as man and woman, many a time in life has made me wonder whether there really exist some truth in it. The myth goes on to explain the necessity men and woman has to feel as one, which becomes true in copulation and the human souls craving to feel complete, to feel alive. The bliss of the union, is something much beyond words to describe, to be experienced and comprehend. I have had my moments of bliss, kissing the first time, feeling a feminine form beating against my chest and even with the slightest touch of the finger tip with the half that went missing, if the Greek myth is to be believed.
The softness of a girl, how much ever compelling and refreshing it might be do not interest me any longer. I have felt like a teacher many a time, I have found myself in the company of a girl, trying to understand the young softness and shape the relation based on the understanding. Not all relation ends up in copulation, there is a happiness in preaching about life to an innocent softness, which many a time had taken me to the heights of metaphysical orgasms, if ever there be one. The softness scares me, I am scared for the softness being charred by me and it has always made me sure, I keep my hands to myself, even if things gets steamy at the heat of the moment. Being selfish from the heart, I do not prefer the extra burden of caring for the needs of a soft young girl.
I seek for the roughness of the woman, the hard muscles of her limbs and heart will know to take care of herself. She would know to protect her interests and her blood would never be shed. The grasping mind of the woman, experienced in the bitter and sweet of life, the veteran gray cells, which has been through the ups and downs in life, excites me than anything I can imagine. I know, every single cell of me can be myself, the arrogant selfish person, enjoy the bliss in copulation or of mating of the intellect. I can be sure of the waters I tread on and can feel confident about the wing-man watching the flanks. I can see myself in the hard woman, experienced and traveled through the valleys and peaks in life, there is a definiteness in the woman eyes, she is sure of herself, her physique, her intelligence and her soul. I would love to lie in the arms of the woman and understand the completeness she brings to me, rather than ever be a teacher again.
I want to get on top of the water tank of my flat, sit with legs dangling down, sipping spirit and rejoice in the copulation of the spirits, the golden colored one I love to drink and the spirit inside me, which I might be able to identify in the woman sitting by my side, with legs dangling down. Oh, how I wish to be in the arms of the woman and not a girl, realize the half beating against me and rejoice in the mating of the intellect, in the copulation of the spirit. I am a Jew, a shrewd one at that, who knows in the deepest corners of my mind that my Bashert is a woman and not ever a form of softness called a girl.