Bruce and I were watching Revenge the other day. It was a Bruce pick. I enjoyed seeing Anthony Quinn and wondered a bit why he seemed always fated to play that tough powerful guy with the marshmallow heart who nevertheless is too proud to avoid causing devastating pain to the people he thinks he loves who have wronged him. (I think that was a spoiler, but the movie came out in 1990 and if you haven't seen it by now, too bad so sad)
There was a scene in which Kevin Costner and Madeleine Stowe were tenderly exploring each other's nearly perfect bodies with kisses, and for me this was the heart of the movie. I experienced that scene as if I were an alien to the species and watched with ennuied amusement trying to guess at the purpose of this venture. It truly seemed a strange rite and one that was not only unlikely, but of little value when you factored in time and the probablity of danger. I was thinking it is so peculiar that in our culture many many intimacies between men and women are perfectly acceptable, we can share our deepest thoughts, we can share day to day lives or mind altering indulgences or a thousand things but this one rite, and a physical one, is the one deemed to be sacred to one relationship (for married people) Trangressions here will cause such anguish. And it seemed so weird to me.
So, of course God had to intervene that night with a dream to dealienate me a bit. I dreamed of who I always dream of and there were achingly sweet proximities and then those brushing hesitant but greedy kisses and the fiery dazzling Swirl and I could touch his hair and smell him and every detail was rich with meaning. And he touched me once intimately then said he had to go, but would return. I woke up humbled and sad and remembering that there was a time i did know passion.