the quest

Dear Lover,

I am on the path to find you, somewhere, somehow, the woman with whom to spend the rest of this wonderful life. Twenty-five or thirty years? It’s never too late, my love! We’re older, wiser, juicier, bolder, even with sagging boobs and sore knees. My beloved, I care not for your physical quirks, but for your soft skin and your amazing mind and your big heart. I too have a very human body. But oh so full of love and excitement and affection, knowing I will meet you soon.

I am in my camper van somewhere in the West, out on the range, with my dyke binoculars, ready to spot your lovely boyish self. Will I meet you before I leave for India in December, 2015, or perhaps in March when I return? Will I meet you at a LGBT dharma group in the Bay area, sitting cross legged and quiet in your meditative chair? Or perhaps two years from now when I’m speaking at a bookstore in Santa Fe and you come up to me boldly to get my autograph? Or perhaps you’ll be a master gardener selling chile seeds outside Albuquerque, or a UCC minister giving a really good sermon in Apache Junction, Arizona, where all the RV lesbians live?

Maybe you’ll be walking down the street to an AA convention in Seattle, carrying a video you just made about addiction in the women’s prison, and notice my friendly smile? Or heck, maybe I’ll actually meet you in India, of all places, speaking with gay activists in Chennai about your work on gay rights in Nigeria? Will you be white? Brown? Black? Or Blue from your recent break up, and need some time to heal and regroup before you can plunge into the glories of new love?

Like Dorothy I will return to my Portland and my co-housing community, chanting “There’s no place like homo!” I mean, “There’s no place like home”. And suddenly you will appear, oh my sweetness, just around the corner, having been in Portland the whole time. Ah, the humor of life. The unpredictability. And the beauty, beauty, beauty.

Until my next letter…… You are my most cherished dream!

Cynthia

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