27 January 2012

She Owns Me

You don’t own me. Nobody does.

It is the anthem of the wasteland, the title track by the artist known as self, and he is crooning it out in a low quiet growl because he wrote it for his wife and he wants her to know that always and forever, he will let her touch him in the ways that he likes but when he loses interest he will go to his screen for an easier glow and come back to her when that goes dim––and why? Because his marriage is for him.

You don’t own me. Nobody does.
This life is for me. (I’m so bored I can’t wait to die.)


Have you been humming this song, wobbling to its rhythm for so long now that you forgot it was even playing? Switch the track and try something new...
My lover is mine and I am his. 
(Song 2:16) 
It is the anthem of paradise, sung in the Song of Songs, and the lady sings it twice because she wrote it for her lover and herself and she wants us to know that always and forever, he will be drink for her, and she, food for him––and why? Because their marriage is for them.


I am my lover’s and my lover is mine. 
(Song 6:3)

Where does it come from––this mysterious belonging––that a man could own his woman and a woman, her man? What warrants this claim on a person not oneself? But that’s just it, isn’t it? She is yourself.
Listen.

Second chapter, Genesis:
A man shall leave his father and his mother and shall cleave unto his wife: and they shall be one flesh.

Cleave––like two clods of rain-drenched dust-turned-mud, two God-breathed clumps welded together in their present and future by the water of commitment.
She owns me.

I am her very own man. Before she was mine, I was my own: a potential to be this or that for who knows what other woman. But now that is over––if I am to be hers and she is to be mine. My prospects have changed from what they were at my birth. My potential is hidden inside of her, as is yours in the one you call yours.

Think of it. She makes you different from who you were born. Far-flung fields of existence where you had never imagined yourself walking––from the rearing of children to the repair of a house––now open before you because you are hers. You see the need that she has, and you step in and answer it and become her man. Do you see what has happened? Her need has planted the seed that will grow you into the tree you could never have been. Because your life is for her.

Look up at that tree! Look, look up at those green gleaming leaves and imagine with me who you might become were you to be hers. 


 All hers.

20 January 2012

Feature Article in Seven


Download the January 2012 edition of SEVEN, and flip to page 14. Cover article!