A dog howls in the night. A leaf crunches underfoot. I cringe to recall the time I came home drunk and, feeling slighted, demanded that you acknowledge my body. I am rarely so hot-tempered, though I remember another time, walking in pitch darkness through forest and muttering, rape me, to the world at large. Why do I bring such matters up? Is it just to forge the heart in the furnace of desire?
When he left me, I was devastated; from the perspective of my domestic queen the question loomed: how could he reject such a paradigm of household perfection?
But the destructive lady thought differently. She saw how deftly I handled adversity. She noticed how a part of me leaped with the packing up of boxes, the purging of cookware. She saw how devastation made room for new growth.
And I, in turn, was indebted to her for keeping life vital and exciting.
Now I am pulled towards familiar comforts. Destructive lady says, hang on, don’t forget me, I am the key to so much – creativity, sexuality, as well as chaos and demolition. Don’t neglect my role in your life, or else!
The idea comes. How about letting the destructive lady pick something substantial to pursue? And if she is occupied with something powerful she can really sink her teeth into maybe just maybe lady #1 can go about her needed business without so much drama and fanfare.