7: movements in gravity and peripheral views

In physics, we all know that Newton discovered the Law of Gravity. Just what is it?  Is it as simple as, “Things tend to fall downward?”  Of course people knew that things fall downward, ever since there were people. Newton never mentioned being hit on the head by an apple, but he did say that he saw an apple fall. Maybe the moon was in the sky at the time, maybe not. But when Newton saw the apple fall, and thought about it, his great insight was that he saw that the same thing that caused the apple to fall (gravity) was what held the moon in its orbit.  One consequence of all this is that everything attracts everything else with gravitational forces. The earth attracts the apple and the apple attracts the earth with the same force. The apple is the one that moves noticeably because it is so much lighter (and easier to move) than the earth. The earth and a ten pound weight are attracted to each other with a force of exactly ten pounds.  In fact, that is the definition of weight, the force of gravitational attraction. Everything attracts everything, hence the “universal” in the name of Newton’s law. And the law holds way out as far as telescopes can see;  it is truly universal.

Side vision is the ability to see objects and movement outside of the direct line of vision. Peripheral vision is the work of the rods, nerve cells located largely outside the macula (the center) of the retina. The rods are also responsible for night vision and low-light vision but are insensitive to color.  As opposed to central vision.  Most of us do not trust our peripheral vision because it is half-baked and cannot be trusted.  For some, like yours truly, I regard it with utmost gospel truth because it is gravely metaphorical. What can I say, I like my life to surrounded by symbols and beacons.

In my life, I have both gravity and peripheral vision working its way to their very own contentment by making each day of my life curiously motivating, imaginative and analytical in each exhale, hellish episodes and commanding metaphysics that I chew with great pleasure.   Remember, I am a siren and I swim each day to my sea of voyages knowing what kind of weapon I am deemed to forget – or terminate for that matter.  Although most of the time, I fall completely flat NOT knowing what is really going on.  And that works just fine.

It has been almost a month now since I started having a relationship again.  It is both overthrowing and bewitching.  I remember this song by Fleetwood Mac called Rhiannon, a song about a woman or probably the Celtic goddess herself who lost her baby to the dark, infernal regions, that goes, “ . . . will you stay if she promised you heaven? Will you ever win?” and thinks about really getting this done right this time.

Now the question is, how right is right?  Are there any wrong things in movements of the body and the heart that should embody the rightness of this relationship.  Is there truism in the emotional junket that constitutes love inside the relationship?  How much love?  For how long?

As most of you know, I have been in and out relationships for years and although I have immensely enjoyed documenting them for my own narcissistic pleasure, here is the real catch:  I am actually a basketcase when it comes to relationships.  I am dying to settle down and be gotten.  I think I know what love is.  More than the gawking, habitual feeling of nausea like uncooperative gag reflex and that extreme feeling of have died and gone to heaven crap, I think, for years, I have boned up the emotional rush and its fluctuations.  In my very active life, I have had around 9 relationships in my 30-something years and have learned a lot.  Been there, done that.  I guess I have seen myself in love in many an episode of walking in the rain, laughing hysterically inside a movie theater and getting butchered sexually atop a washing machine but keeping a relationship is something that I have yet to learn.  Once, I confronted myself and said, “You are NOT meant to be in one.  You are the journey NOT the destination.  Freedom is your name”


I was fooling myself because inasmuch as I demanded freedom in my life movements, I was internally absorbed in the idealism of marital perpetuation in truth and God forbid, in real life.  My substantial name is actually Pathetica.

You see, my life is so funny.

Half-way through my book, MY LIFE IN 50 DAYS, I decided I should do something outrageous after writing the last chapter.  I told friends that I will quit drinking.  Or quit smoking.  Get a love life.  Get a real life.  Writing this now, I wished I stuck on quitting smoking and drinking because 2 weeks before this writing, I unconsciously chose getting a love life – getting love and getting life – and it was such a great ending to this 50-day odyssey.  I fancied it as a 50-day voyage and my newly-chiseled heart was the island I was destined to have as a reward for being literarily obedient and for sculpting my own pilgrimage in 49 intermixtured catastrophes of my life, designed to make me laugh and cry at the same time.  So, I embarked on this island.  The stop and by far, the celebration.

And so, along came Paolo.

Since last month, things have been beautiful.  There’s no way to describe it but that.  It’s as synthetic as it sounds but the genesis of every relationship starts from blissful encounters and fiery reciprocity anyway, so I don’t think describing it as beautiful condones to the onset of movements in gravity and peripheral views of my quest to make things right.

My gravitational universe, as most of my friends and family adviced, should be located where there are laughters and good vibes.  A good boy as I am, I planted my feet on the ground and tied an invicible cord that would glue me on solid earth for a while.  In real life, I went out with Paolo everywhere, saw things, tasted good food and bad food, held hands with him and kissed each other interminably.  Like I said, I have been good.

Then my peripheral view, something that I can’t control at times lest I would go blind completely, saw things that legitimately warred against the beauty of it all.

One time inside an elevator, Paolo rubbed his thickening beard and said, “Babe I am beginning to look like a monkey.”  I laughed and did not say anything.  Instead, I sang George Michael’s hit Monkey.  He quizzically looked at me and said, “I don’t understand your music”   Kapooowww !!!  I was looking straight ahead in my silver world and that sentence was uttered – static static – peripheral thought disturbance !!!

At Starbucks, he ordered our coffee.  He got me my favorite mocca frapp . . . minus the foam.  I said, “What’s with the ice?”   He said confidently, “It is for your diet!”   Gggggrrrrrrr . . .

Another time, in a more pensive setting, Paolo told me, chuckling, “Do you remember that time when we used to associate our relationship to that of the Na’vi, from Avatar?  I really used to think that I was a  remotely controlled biological body mixed with human DNA with that of the native population, the blue monkeys, and that our world happens every time we are together . . . which barely happens because we both work late . . .  ”

“OK and ?”  I said, meddlesome and investigative as usual.

” . . . and then I realized we are not in that world anymore.  This is the real thing.”  He ended his sentence by winking and sticking his tongue out as if to say . . .  I am just joshing . . . as if to say I mean what I am saying . . .  as if to say I am inflicting protection on you, Jon, because I am getting out of my make-do world of cinematic associations and really really really getting this done rightfully . . . as if to say Stop your dissections Jon and BE WITH ME !!!

And there – my gravitational pull.

It all becomes simple really.

When in love, stop rationalizing.  Your peripheral cautions always comes in handy because it makes the human in you and it keeps the patterns relevant but being in love at this point is all about partaking to the music that both of you create.  It could be anything but what matters most are the movements that are conceived by compromise and from the hip fun of bonded titters that should remind both that love is the one driving the car.  Neither of you is allowed to handle the wheel unless love is failing to cope through the intersections.  To put it simply, that’s when peripheral vision takes the center stage.  It is called sensitivity.

Love should free you anyhow and relationships, be it an old one or a fresh one, brimming melodically with its initial thrills or an age-old union for that matter,  should be treated with bohemian abandonment and loads of laughter.  All the time.

And so I dance to Newton’s universal law.  With both of my feet planted on the ground.

It feels so good.

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