I fully agreed. Her reasoning amazed me. This beach was fast becoming one of the most exciting, beautiful, and interesting places I had been at, for a long time. We stayed till sunset, then I invited her to join me for a dinner fit for the occasion, and to a dance afterwards. I suggested that this, too, would fulfill a deeply seated human need. She agreed.

      We went to a fine restaurant in the middle of the city, right as we were coming from the beach. It was daring. This was certainly not customary. I was probably the only man there without a tie. But we didn't care. More important things ruled the day. Sharing ideas was more important than obeying conventions. We talked about many things over dinner, personal things, and sometimes intimate things. One of the things that had puzzled me ever since we met at the beach was her accuracy in perception, when she told me that I had been married for a dozen years. "Was it just a lucky guess?" I asked her.

      She shook her head and smiled. "You are like someone who lives in a beautiful garden that has hundreds of types of flowers growing in it, but who is bound by some code of ethics to look at only one single flower, and none other. Of course, living there, you are aware of the rich profusion in the garden, all the colors and shades of colors, and the delicate forms that have unfolded in the sunshine. Still, you dare not to look at them, because of your commitment to the one single flower. You tell yourself that there is no need to look further, because, as the old saying goes, once one has seen one flower one has seen them all. Ah, but out of the corner of your eye you notice that the saying is not true. So, one day you protest against the code of ethics that had narrowed your vision to only one single flower. You open your heart to the rich profusion there is all around you. You kneel down where you stand, and admire one of those other flowers that you had not allowed yourself to look at before. Suddenly you find yourself immensely enriched by its fragrance, its shape, and its hues of color. As a consequence of this experience you stop, and take it all in, you drink in that beautiful moment, you store it away as a memory for all those other days."

      She smiled more sweetly now, a smile brighter than the light at noon. "Most men," she said, "if they are honest with themselves, get to this point in a dozen years. Some take longer, and some never get there. Those who never get there, are usually blind to life. They either don't live at all or tend to play cruel games, games that are focused on power, wealth, prestige, rape, murder, crime. Also, there are some who never get married at all, who may be totally blind to the garden, or who, in the other extreme, are so deeply aware of it that they can never shut out anything of the beauty of life. So they remain unmarried, because they can't meet what the conventions demand. But those are few, and few of them are truly happy."

     

      She reached across the table at this point and put her hand on mine. "You are one of those honest married men, who after a dozen years, or so, recognize the paradox that they have gotten themselves into, who then struggle to resolve it, courageously. It is a beautiful and exciting experience to be able to witness this awakening in another person, and to be a part of it, to experience the unfolding appreciation of the beauty of life. This is much more rewarding than struggling alone. And, Peter, I am honored that you chose me to be involved in your awakening."

     

      I don't know what touched me the most about her. Her speech, her tone of voice, her smile, the way her hair hung loosely, the way it complemented her complexion and the dark yellow of her dress. They all added to the magic of the moment, the kind of magic that one hopes will never end. But mostly it was what she said that made the moment special. She had said that she felt honored by me sharing my awakening with her. Wow!

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Stories about  Love from novels by Rolf A. F. Witzsche