everything we'll ever have

It was evening just like it usually was with them. Every evening has a morning, and a day, and a night. Beatrice was there, snuggling in content after the exhaustion of her day. She just arrived from the outside where the winds and the Celcius whizzed up a sensational ice waltz of minus 35. The day she left behind was pregnant with mind games, her resistance to the mind games, her mind’s resistance to her feelings, her decisions mutating one into another at alarming speeds and, also, various pragmatic issues, like, say, what to eat. Her mind and her ego finally shook their fleshy heads at her in a pain of a disappointment and retired each to their own lonely caves. She then picked up a phone and rang Belacqua. He didn’t pick up. Her loner mind pulled its enormous head out of the cave to say, “I told you so!” But then her phone rang. Belacqua was calling back. They talked casually as if nothing was affecting them, which was always the case with them, and she finally said yes to coming over for dinner.

“I had no idea you would actually agree to coming over!” Belacqua purred, pierced in the face by the evening lamp light of his persevering kitchen, “I'd changed the whole dinner menu!”

He had.

“Initially, there was going to be a fish and rice little number! But now I am making a Guinness stew with all the stuff that you don’t eat!” “I can’t eat anyway. I have a show next morning,” Beatrice said, truthfully, “I will just hang out.”

Blissful Beatrice was there, snuggling after the exhaustion of her day spent inside her mind. The mind was so bogged just hours earlier, it wouldn’t let her move neither backward nor forward. Belacqua was on the phone every few minutes asking her to come for dinner. Beatrice was on the phone every few minutes wanting him to do more for her, not just make a dinner, but come and pick her up at the other end of town. Habitually Belacqua resisted. He brought up the ‘broken muffler’ puzzle, which sounded more like a euphemism. Her mind burst into tearful laughter and her ego said, “He’ll never go out of his way for you…” interrupted by Belacqua’s “At the liquor store now. Red or white?”

Damaged by socialization, like we all are, Beatrice was there, snuggling after the exhaustion of her day, having just gone temporarily crazy hours earlier from all the fighting with her mind.

She was there, and Belaqua was there. He was making the stew and playing his good country songs on the sad guitar that was there too. Every now and then he would come up and peck her on the cheek or give her a quick careful kiss. Neither time nor pain exist as soon as we allow each other to just be.

Sometimes all we had to do was let our minds subside and the itch of this mean quodlibet to die down. But there was always something that one had to do next. And so off our minds went in the deathless pursuit of goals, taking us further and further away from the present moment, not allowing us to ever fill up with the bliss of everything that we already had, which is, coincidentally, everything we will ever have anyway because there is nothing else to have other than the present moment.