Creation Spirit

ON MAKING LOVE. Copyright 2004 by James H. Young. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced by any mechanical, photographic, or electronic process, or in the form of a phonographic recording; nor may it be stored in a retrieval system, transmitted, or otherwise be copied for public or private use–other than for “fair use” as brief quotations embodied in articles and reviews without the written permission of the author.

The author’s intent is only to offer information of a general nature to help you in your quest of emotional and spiritual well-being. In the event you use any of the information in this book for yourself, which is your constitutional right, the author assumes no responsibility for your actions.

For written approval, contact: dimitrios@creationspirit.net

Introduction

Perhaps a brief introduction is necessary as a precursor to this body of spiritual imagery in word form. As most who really know me will testify, I can be somewhat “cheeky” when it comes to conversation. I won’t go so far as to say that I’m rude, but on many occasions I say what I feel led to say. It often feels like someone else has opened my mouth and spoken in my stead. You undoubtedly know the feeling. Some describe such happenings as Freudian slips, but that is not so in this case, for I have not had something come out of my mouth that was intended for my mother, but instead misspoken in another’s company. And I don’t buy the business that everything has an undertone of sexuality connected with it.

Having said that, you may want to counter my proclamation when I describe how I sometimes find myself answering the mostly superficial query, “And what do you do?” (for a living implied). I often answer with the simple truth: “I make love all day.” Permit me to explain. Please!

Several years ago now I was visiting Santa Fe NM to house-sit for some friends and I found myself involved in a breakfast meeting a photographer friend of mine had invited me to participate in. During a break in the meeting one of the participants asked me if I was planning to attend the Coleman Barks reading of Rumi’s poetry the next evening. I allowed that I hadn’t seen that he was going to perform, but would love to attend, because I often feasted on Rumi’s heart renderings. “Oh,” says she, “it’s all sold out, but I think I can find you a few tickets if you really want to go. I’m on the board that sponsored the event, so just let me know and I’ll see what I can do.” I quickly approached my friend and he immediately affirmed his desire to attend. I then quickly called a couple from nearby Jemez Springs and asked if they would like to attend. The man of the house decided to attend, but his wife sadly had another engagement and could not.

To make a very long story short, the three of us attended this marvelous event, and enjoyed it thoroughly. Barks read his translations while a drummer, cellist, and dancer accompanied him in breathtaking fashion. It was a real love-in from my point of view. And from the energy I could feel from the over 800 attendees, this surely was the consensus.

The next morning I called some friends back home to tell them of my good fortune, and informed them that I was going to have Barks autograph a copy of one of my favorite translations of Rumi’s work at a favorite book store in town. Jim immediately asked if I would mind purchasing a book of Bark’s work and doing the same for him. Of course, I agreed, and hurried off to the book-signing event.

After purchasing Jim’s book I got in line, a very short line, really, counter to my expectations for such an event. l found myself just behind a man having a conversation with Coleman, with several women standing in single file just behind me. As I approached him, I told Barks that I had two books to sign, both for a Jim Young, but not the same people. He asked what the first one did, and I responded with, “He’s a marvelous potter and greatly admires your work.” He proceeded to autograph Jim’s book with something appropriate to Jim’s calling. Without looking up, he then opened the cover to my book and asked what I do. I responded with, “Oh, I make love all day.” He looked up in surprise, saying, “Oh, you dickens, you,” with a broad smile on his face.

“No. No,” I rejoined him quickly, as I felt the hair stand on end of the necks of the women behind me. “No, I don’t mean that sexually. You are making love here, right now, autographing books and speaking with people. You did it last evening, with an auditorium filled with people. You and the drummer and the dancer and the cellist–you made amazing love with one another and everyone in the audience.” I immediately felt the energy in the row of women behind me shift dramatically for the better. Coleman said not a word in response. He only wrote something in my book and handed it back to me, with what seemed like a bland, disconnected gesture. I thought his response, or should I say non response, was strange at the time, but immediately forgot it as I headed out to meet friends for lunch.

Later that day I found time to call the woman who had arranged to have tickets set aside for my friends and me. I thanked her once again for making it possible for us to have a most enchanting evening. Then I told her the story about the book-signing incident earlier that day. She responded immediately with, “Jim, you have no idea what you’ve done!” “Whatever do you mean?” I rejoined. “’Well, his response was probably one of astonishment, like you caught him doing something he thought was very private.” “I’m still not getting what you mean,” I responded. “Jim, the truth of the matter is that he was making love to the audience last night. It was the very first time he had brought the newest love of his life to one of his concerts, and she was sitting in the front row. Indeed, he was making love, quite publicly I might add, and you caught him at it. Or so it seemed.”

Now I was the astonished one. I won’t carry this story further, except to say that this incident led me to open myself to a vast array of poetics that simply traverse through my fingers into this very word-processor, now into the form in which you are about to find them.

No matter how you receive these humble offerings, my only hope only is that you will be open to making love all day yourself, with all who come into your life’s path. I have found making love, or creating love if you prefer, is the most enjoyable and noble purpose one can serve. At least for me that is so. I suspect the same is true for Coleman Barks. As for Rumi, I know it must have been an undeniable Truth.