Woman Found And Lost (wake Up Chant III)

Woman found and lost (Wake Up Chant III)

Almost every block of "Wake Up" the "Chant I" has the it's story, replicated and extended as narration in another Chant
Exception is the last one:,

"Or otherwise, awake
and looked you still sleeping
smiling in dreams
with your head on my chest"

 which seems to be the epilogue of the whole "Invitation" (Wake Up Chant II), as an expression of will and desire for future and not an already past nor present time story.

In "Wake Up", it's fragment:

Or, a  few weeks ago
when you sat side to me in the bus,
cleaned my face while laughing
And we sang together
the songs of our generation
and we seemed like college sweethearts
having fun, having smiles, having love
as if the travel where life itself

The extended story in form of a narration is "Woman found and lost" (Wake Up Chant III), as follows:

The second month of 2012 was a hard one for me.
According to both, my psychologist and my psychiatrist, since December 2011 I was initiating some signs of be following a recovery path for my diagnosed "atypical" depression.
By end of January of this year, and based on sudden symptoms, analysis, and images, two gastroenterologists (clinical and surgeon) and an oncologist got convinced I had cancer, and performed an urgent chirurgical intervention.
They found nothing like expected, but effects of strong stress for long time and some extended but benign polyps they cut off
All of them got so happy to be wrong that they almost forgot my remaining painful spasms and other related symptoms. "You are a strong man, can stand stress and the digestive system you've got", they said in a chorus version. So sweet...
Only the clinical gastroenterologist added: "Carlos, you were lucky, but luck is a one time ticket: as you know, stress may lead to cancer later"
That would be wise if she also could give me the prescription or the recipe for avoiding stress. 
Stress concept had origin in engineering (not in medicine nor  in psichology) and is related with materials fatigue.
Such is my personal stress.

On February 4th. my father passed, in another country.
Doctors forbid me to travel.
Next 11th.,, only a week latter, my best friend's daughter (who calls me uncle) called on me, saying his father (a bold physics researcher on fluid mechanics) wants to see me, being in intensive care. When I got there, he ask me to hug him, said he was waiting for me to goodbye, and so I lost a friend from 40 years of my life, who dye in my arms.

While this, and since earlier, I was immerse in confuse and contradictory feelings about the discussion of my divorce, although is the formal stage of a couple already inexistent since years (or that's what remained when I drop my hope about it can somehow, somewhen change).

In such emotional conditions, my psychiatrist, in full complicity with my therapist, added me a new medicament, a "stabilizer", she said.
Main effect was I go on feeling almost the same, but almost don't cared much about And secondary one was like if my body control was in automatic pilot.
I told her it was not a good trade, and preferred to support symptoms by my own. She is, at least, as "persistent" as I am and my doctor, so I keep having the ******* pills.

With reduced reflex responses, I could not drive safely (not allowed to nor really willing), so went to working places by train or bus.
One of those days, on February 23rd., something new happened, and it's here where story really begins.

I took a bus out of peak hour, and it was almost empty, taking the first double seat near the window.
I knew, the driver told me, travel will take much longer than use to be, due to problems in the main bridge to be crossed.
What I did not know: additional stupidity provided by said pills makes me touch something that was filled with almost solid graphite oil lubricant, and had my right hand tanned in black.

While listening mp3 music, I also was distributing black oil to my left arm and face (ears and from forehead to beard), and ignoring I was doing so.
I suppose I got looking like an aged bearded commando, in irregular clothes, with a bad done night camouflage, or something even weirdly funnier.

Some minutes later, hormones had taken control, overcome cloudy awareness, music and sad thoughts. And also directed my visual attention to the one deserving to be looking at.
A beauty, charming and strange woman ("strange woman" is not a redundancy, this time) had picked the bus and (I didn't imagine then why, but found out later) was looking directly to my face, with an amused expression.

Dough, as I've said, bus was close to be empty, she sat in same first double seat, next to me.

I'll make an effort to describe her from a point of view that could be measured in a range between an improbable and an impossible objectivity.

Her face told me she was a woman of my generation, although with a beauty young look and expression.
What was not in concordance with assumed age was her body. Fitness, but more likely sports, I thought, even because by her graceful posture and movements.
(Later on, I confirmed some occasional sport, but had to add the practice of a martial art and, decisively, classical ballet danced since child).

At this point, there was not flirting signs, but else.
We focused in each other one eyes, and there was a lightning connection without words.
It was not, not only attraction, but a sudden channel in two convergent directions.
I was in a calm shock, and remained so in a scale you will confirm by the ending of the story.

Then, I saw her looking at my right hand, smiling, almost controlling laugh, and abruptly laughing while making a face gesture pointing at my palm, the thickly black tanned one. That's when I discovered the same she saw since beginning.
My next actions become to be ridiculous and not useful at all : I took some writing paper from somewhere and began to rub and scratch my hand with it. Only result was obtaining black tinted paper, of course.

Another smoother laugh from her, she looked very amused, and then she gave me a package of paper handkerchiefs. I thanked her and used them.
It was slightly better, but far from enough, almost with same as previous results.

So her, forcing a faked seriousness ruined by a gentle but amused smile, told me something like: "Oooh man! Let me do it, I DO know how"
Don't waiting for an answer, not for a second, she took some objects from a medium size sport bag: more paper and a can of women's deodorant perfume. "Will provide alcohol", she said. 

While already had begin to spray my right hand and left forearm, she asked (as by the way and, by then, purely rhetorical) "will you have problems at home cos woman perfume on you?"
My only possible and omissible answer was a silent "No" with my head.
That seemed to satisfy her somehow as like good news, so continued her careful, effective and enthusiast skin cleaning.

While this, she began to formulate what seemed a floating set of inconsequent questions to me and about me, but which resulted in an resumed but almost exhaustive and not so hidden survey of mine.

Being satisfied with already clean hand and arm, she decided to go on with my face, for what she turn her face and visual attention to it.

Then, she told me, while started to rub my face and head: "It's your turn, ask".
So I got to know, not necessarily in that order, she is graduated in Psychology, formerly professor in local public University, and now researcher, assessor and therapist  (some days a week) in two hospitals, also attending her own private patients.
Learned she was divorced and had two teen sons.
Also about her love for music and dance and her practice of Pa Kua.

More carefully (people of our generation remained so in our country) we checked mutually about politics, philosophy, worldview and about related  standing for our foundational values.
Both smiled, not exactly surprised but mostly pleased for our coincidences about, beginning with that such point was unavoidable important for both.
We also converged or be affine in other passions and interests, including some of them rarely similar between people from different academic formations.

The pivotal step of convesation irrupted when she seemed to be finishing her cleaning activities on my face.
By when we talked about emotional points of view, needs (my asking had derived in a mutual dialog), and stories of pain and love, I could see her eyes had then become wet, while still smiled.

She keeps the longest silence since met and, in a strangely low and smooth voice said: "I have not to look at your eyes by now, or I'll get helpless distracted and will not understand your words nor even mine"

I was not able to say a word.

Then, she released my face, shake slowly her head and hair, and stated with the returning of a laughing attitude: "Well Sir., cleaning therapy is not for free nor even cheap and I'll make you no discount".
Before I could answer about, she continued: "I want to hear, by myself, the music you were listening until interrupted to look at my...back"
I had to concede I owned her the first and she was completely right about the last. 

So, she put only one of both auricular pins in her right ear and the other in my left, so we could hear same music, although slightly distorted. And said: "Maestro, you can begin the concert" and so, what else, I did.

One important but not commented "constraint" of such arrangement for sharing music was the need of getting as near as possible.
Not only our heads, she hanged her right leg on my left one,  near to be sitting on my lap, what  not contributed to my capacity for remain concentrated on music. Which, of course, was the last thing I would complain on.

But then, she began to sing, joining the played song. And I began to add a bold but austere second voice to hers.
She approved that with a nice gesture, between joy and surprise.

We never talked about our common knowledge and evident shared pleasure for my selection of songs.
It worked as if we had picked almost 200 songs together and before.
And we sang,  shacked, followed rythm, almost danced, clapped hands and gestured together for a long time.

My emotions were under full immersion in the frame of a coherent dream, as if it were the deep foundation of reality first revealed.
Strong contradictory thoughts seamed to be only appearance in a concordance resistant to be described by the words I know.

Even so, I will try to make some sense of it, but don't expect me to be accurate nor to deny I was like hallucinated.
The perceived "facts" about:

 Like if time don't matter. Or, better said: was both instantaneous and as if same events had been happening since ever.

 That recently meet stranger woman behave like if known me since years and I felt the same.
 And more strange than only that impossible mutual knowledge was the unlikely alliance between (for both)  evident surprise and the genuine confidence and connection that should have taken years to obtain.

I will intent to show it with an image.
For the yearly world championship of Tango, partners should train together for long time, to reach a kind of mutual coordination that may be exceeds what is needed in most of dances supported by a pre stated choreography.
Here, technique is needed but secondary, dancing couples can and use to introduce variations without previous agreement, and make for them a mutual following and companionship by gentle but passionate reading of each other close bodies. Is like making best possible loving sex: and that's is where relies the intimate nature of tango.

Now, make an effort of imagination.
Suppose that during the competition, two unknown "aficionados", mutually complete strangers until this, stand up from their separate seats between public and at the same time.
Then walk, get in the dance floor, under the reflectors, without inscription nor announce. Next, without a word, embrace and dance.
And, with only this, they win the ultimate prize, with no previous cumulate points nor possible debate about they were the better.

Just like such was what happened between me and her in that bus.
Except that tango is a serious dance and often the expression of tragic feelings, despite it's inherent passionate erotic.
And ours was full of inexplicable laughing, singing and shared amusement.

Another analogy.
If someone from the few others in the bus looked at as, we may seemed  to them like an somehow aged couple of teen college sweethearts.
Composed, instead, for what may look like a long time, well founded, happy and loving married pair.

But all dances come to an end.
I recognize this later, then I was out of clocks.
Or, better, doing our own time, signaled with our own discovered common rhythm.
But all dances come to an end and also that one.

Suddenly, when bus was on a stop and in front of a red semaphore light, she stand up, laugh again, pointed me with her finger and said: "YOU retained me here and make me go beyond my working place bus stop for more than ten blocks !!!!" .
Then she kissed my forehead and my cheek, holding my face with both hands, and go out to street.

I was not only surprised at the point of getting silent and inmobile, but also unable to understand what was about what now was happening.
Return to reality seemed to be unreal.

A second or so later, with the bus still stopped, I heard a sound in the window: she was striking it with a coin.
I opened it and she screamed. just when bus began to move forward: "Next time, ask me for my name and phone, cos you WILL find me, you...MAN !!!!"

Only in a woman is possible to find joined such extremes of simultaneous passions. Her voice was sad but happy, angry, hopeful and carrying one promise I don't dare to decipher yet.

I am still looking for her.

If this were a movie, here is where I should insert the "The End"

But is still possible to add some reflections about me, about told events and it's possible meaning.

I will exclude to make explicit my thoughts about during the first days.
Mainly because is not useful to write four pages of almost only **** words, the names I called myself.

In contrary, may be more readable and interesting to tell some of what I hear from both, my therapist (a man Psychologist slightly younger than me) and my Psychiatrist (a young but brilliant woman doctor).

The first (even in time) tried to kindly excuse part of what I qualified (as smoother adjective) as a childish and coward behavior.
He reminded me, as secondary facts, that I am depressed and also medicated (remember ******* pills, and delayed reflexes?)
Also, much more as a man than as professional, took in account that, after 38 years being loyal to the same woman (no matter in which state of things), I was "out of training" about encounters, dating, flirting and so.
Finally and the most important, that I was committed almost only to give and without founded expectations to receive (except in my failed hopes)
So, when I found another giver (to me? yes, to me!) I got confounded and without response.

My Psychiatrist is also a woman (instead of a Psychologist and also a man), and from a different generation.
That let me anticipate, at equal professionalism, differences on her point of view, and I want her opinion.
What I could not predict was her actual reaction.

Wile I told her the story, she begin smiling: good news for my emotional needs, a step in my fight with a resistant depression, usual sympathy of most of woman for romantic stories.
When I reached the episode when she began to clean me, she said with a mild but audible sigh: "To use the content of ones purse for one man. What a happiness !!!"
But, when I finally told her the ending, what I miss to do and the words of the bus Lady at the window...then:

She took a large minute of silence, looking at me.
Her face expression changed gradually from surprise to something like offended indignation.

Then, she exploded (being usually a calm, kind and good humored woman) and said: "¡¡¡...que boludo !!!"
The Spanish saying is not a compliment. In my country, generation, and depending on context, it means what, traduced, may fall between something harder than "you fool !" and lighter than "such an a**hole !".

Half a second later she seemed much more surprised than I was, for her words and vehemence.
She recovered, only gradually and not completely, her equanimity and tone of voice.

Also recognized, but not emphasized, the explanations of my Psychologist (while they use to have coincidences about me, a good team).
Main agree with him was that one big problem is around my commitment to give without asking to receive, not as a trade but as a flux of care and love that give us the strength for giving again.

But she told me something more intriguing and unexpected. She said:
"Carlos, I've heard your words carefully, but also read your expressions, body language and tones of voice, and they have some few but important gaps between
I know you some, and sometimes better than yourself. You are not a weak man, without asserting initiatives as you showed yourself in your story.
You are certainly depressed but have not an hysterical nor manipulative side.

What is clear to me, although without the details of being there, is that was YOU who seduced her, in spite of appearances.

So from now, and as she asked you and I prescribe you for your and her health, go and find that woman, YOU... MAN !
She have already done for you enough to deserve it and you are in debt with her"

She take a small break for breathing and add:
"And I will also said it is evident you both belong to the same generation, same as my mother is.
If it was me in an equivalent situation, I would subtract a few seconds from singing or rubbing you, only to write in a paper my name, my two phone numbers and also my mail.  
Then, before getting out of the bus, I would surely put that paper, not in your hand or pocket, but inside your left ear and later check from the window you get and keep it.

And Carlos, get to know, I also work in hospitals in team with many woman psychologists that sometimes know other ones.  So, I may be able to help you with use of our girl hidden telegraph. But I will not.  Do it by yourself, is the task of yor genre"

Doing so

Qwarl Ibn Abdo L'Zagal
(unknown & also unwise old philosopher, circa 1061 AD through Today)

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May 19, 2012