Forgot your password?

We just sent you an email, containing instructions for how to reset your password.

Sign in

  • It is too often promised during marital vows that a love that brought you together is meant to be eternal. As both a witness and participant of such vows, I have often wondered where such affiance leaves reality and occupy an altogether different covenant. As a witness I have seen the dis-ease that such promises bestow upon their protagonists. As a participant, I can confess to subscribing to that chimerical idea when walking down the aisle. To call such idea a primitive maxim implies that one can subtract themselves from societal and cultural norms and recognize its inherent flaw. It is perhaps because of one's fugitive ability to recognize such flaw during this emotionally supercharged moment that a person will concede to a contractual agreement that by any logical means is meant to be transient and temporary. It is not that all marriages are destined to end and be flawed; relationships are subject to too many variables that can affect its outcome wherein extrinsic and intrinsic factors can all play a role. I am not one to cast judgment on the quality, intensity, possibility of any relationship. It is only sometimes that a relationship (legally/spiritually bound or otherwise) is meant to last a lifetime, a poetic affirmation and testament of an imperfect love meant to be.

    My first marriage was no such thing. My decision to wed was fueled by purely external influences; fear and uncertainty sealed the coffin of what would become my solitary confinement. I recognize my fault and by no means excuse my decision, as ultimately it was one that would cause a tumultuous family drama filled with pain, anger and disappointment. In the end I was both witch and inquisitor. As a man who leaves a marriage, one is guaranteed a villainous role in the eyes of those immediately affected and their supporting cast. There were many casualties and the legal separation process proved to be a life altering hardship that would serve as a catalyst and trial-by-fire for a new beginning. Society creates victims and perpetrators; the universe knows no such things.

    My first true love--is a love that started amid a desolate field filled with weeds and thorny bushes, emotionally vacant companions, and equally vacant matrimonial alliances. This lotus-love rose from the suffering and pain of loneliness in the same way that the lotus blooms from the mud and filth that surrounds it. The mud and filth, the pain and suffering became the birthing canal that created this imperfect holy love. It was in walking away from a failed marriage, that I found what I never knew I needed. I have never loved, cried and laughed more fiercely; I have never been this open, vulnerable and willingly unprotected. The walls that once were impenetrable....the island of one that had never been reachable, all ceased to exist. All that remains of those ill conceived barriers are tattered remnants, small reproaches from a long-ago time that bore witness to an abandonment that changed and altered the matrix of existence of previous castaway relationship and past deceptions.

    I do not take for granted what her presence means in my life. I give thanks daily for the gifts and blessings of four perfect children and a home life that is more sacred and holy than any church or religion could ever be. I have promised myself to love her whether love comes back or not, whether it’s equal or otherwise. I have become a man, a husband and a father because the universe placed a bog in my life. This lotus-love gave me life.
    • Share

    Connected stories:

About

Collections let you gather your favorite stories into shareable groups.

To collect stories, please become a Citizen.

    Copy and paste this embed code into your web page:

    px wide
    px tall
    Send this story to a friend:
    Would you like to send another?

      To retell stories, please .

        Sprouting stories lets you respond with a story of your own — like telling stories ’round a campfire.

        To sprout stories, please .

            Better browser, please.

            To view Cowbird, please use the latest version of Chrome, Safari, Firefox, Opera, or Internet Explorer.