The Currents of Quality ...

Lake Willoughby, 20 seconds
Originally uploaded by Zeb Andrews
Further exploration of Quality in the Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance have found me titilated ( a word I NEVER use !) -- like feeling tiny fibers on the very edges of my physical body that touch my auric body that touch the densities in the space all around me.

This was ever present during an early morning conversation today with W, my longest standing friendship (we've known one another since I was 15). He and I can go years without talking, without emails or any form of contact and then, like our talk today, we re-connect without a tinge of awkwardness or discomfort, just an easing in to where we left off, as if the pause button was simply re-tapped to bring us timelessly back into whatever discussion we were previously having.

These currents of Quality were vibrant as my friend shared a poignant story with me about his beloved, who he will be legally marrying over Memorial Day Weekend in D.C. -- an event that I will be attending and finally getting to meet his other half in person. I asked how they met and he shared about the fact that they were the only single men on an African safari trip and wound up being roomed together. They became close, stayed in touch (my friend lives and works in the Middle East; his partner is in the States) and then 7 months later, my friend's mother becomes very ill. He flies to the States and has a brief layover in the State where his now partner lives. In route, he is informed that his mother has died. He has no clothes for a funeral. He relays this message to his partner. It is early evening on New Year's Eve and the likelihood of anything being open is slim. When my friend lands and arrives, he is met by his partner who has managed to find him 2 suits, 3 black ties, and 2 pairs of shoes to choose from. He has also finagled a tailor to remain open on New Year's Eve so that my friend can have the suit of his choosing altered so that he can present his best self at his mother's funeral. My friend makes the statement: "I simply have no words to describe the way this man loves me." It was in that moment I closed my eyes briefly, just aware of the vibration in the room, all around me. It was not emanating from me, nor from my friend on the phone, but rather it just was ...

I shared with my friend that no words were necessary to describe this love; the love, instead, had described itself.