The Transparent Self
Excerpt from the The Transparent Self by Sidney M. JourardThe Experience and Disclosure of Love
p. 52.
II
I love her. What does this mean? I want her to exist for me and to exist for herself. I want her alive. I want her to be and, moreover, to be in the way that she chooses to be. I want her free. As she discloses her being to me or before my gaze, my existence is enriched. I am more alive. I experience myself in dimensions that she evokes, such that my life is more meaningful and livable. My beloved is a mystery that I want to make transparent. But the paradox is that I cannot make my beloved do anything. I can only invite and earn the disclosure that makes her transparent. I want to know my beloved. But for me to know, she must show. And for her to show her mysteries to me, she must be assured I will respect them, take delight in them. Whether the mysteries are the feel of her flesh against mine--something I cannot know until it happens--or what she is thinking, imagining, planning or feeling. Why should she disclose herself to me if I am indifferent or if I plan to use her for purposes I conceal from her? She would know me, the one who claims to love her. If she would know me, then I must wish to be known. I must disclose my being to her, in dialogue, so that we know one another apace. As soon as she discloses herself to me, I form a concept of her that is instantly out of date, for she has changed. As I reenter dialogue with her, my concept is shattered, and I must form it anew, again and again. If she is free and growing, then she will surprise me, upend my expectancies, "blow" my mind. Hopefully, in ways I like. If I love her, I love her projects, since she is their source and origin. I may help her if she wants my help; or let her struggle with them unaided if this is meaningful to her. I respect her wishes in the matter. If I love myself, I love my projects since they are my life. If she loves me, she confirms me in my projects, helps me with them, even if the help consists in leaving me alone. If she tries to control me, she doesn't love me. If I try to control her, I don't love her. I experience her as free and treasure her freedom. I experience myself as free and treasure my freedom. I am a body. I am embodied. So is she. I like to be embodied, and I like her way of being embodied. If I do not like the way she appears, I tell her, for our love is truth. I am a sexual being. So is she. Together, we produce an experience that is exquisite for us both. She invites me to know her sexually, and I invite her to know me sexually. We share our erotic possibilities in delight and ecstasy. If she wants me and I don't want her, I cannot lie. My body speaks only truth. And I cannot take her unless she gives herself. Her body cannot lie. If I see and hear my beloved, I know her more than if I just see her. But if I touch, smell and taste her, I know her still more. But she will not allow me to come that close if she doesn't trust me or want me to know her.
I love her. What does this mean? I want her to exist for me and to exist for herself. I want her alive. I want her to be and, moreover, to be in the way that she chooses to be. I want her free. As she discloses her being to me or before my gaze, my existence is enriched. I am more alive. I experience myself in dimensions that she evokes, such that my life is more meaningful and livable. My beloved is a mystery that I want to make transparent. But the paradox is that I cannot make my beloved do anything. I can only invite and earn the disclosure that makes her transparent. I want to know my beloved. But for me to know, she must show. And for her to show her mysteries to me, she must be assured I will respect them, take delight in them. Whether the mysteries are the feel of her flesh against mine--something I cannot know until it happens--or what she is thinking, imagining, planning or feeling. Why should she disclose herself to me if I am indifferent or if I plan to use her for purposes I conceal from her? She would know me, the one who claims to love her. If she would know me, then I must wish to be known. I must disclose my being to her, in dialogue, so that we know one another apace. As soon as she discloses herself to me, I form a concept of her that is instantly out of date, for she has changed. As I reenter dialogue with her, my concept is shattered, and I must form it anew, again and again. If she is free and growing, then she will surprise me, upend my expectancies, "blow" my mind. Hopefully, in ways I like. If I love her, I love her projects, since she is their source and origin. I may help her if she wants my help; or let her struggle with them unaided if this is meaningful to her. I respect her wishes in the matter. If I love myself, I love my projects since they are my life. If she loves me, she confirms me in my projects, helps me with them, even if the help consists in leaving me alone. If she tries to control me, she doesn't love me. If I try to control her, I don't love her. I experience her as free and treasure her freedom. I experience myself as free and treasure my freedom. I am a body. I am embodied. So is she. I like to be embodied, and I like her way of being embodied. If I do not like the way she appears, I tell her, for our love is truth. I am a sexual being. So is she. Together, we produce an experience that is exquisite for us both. She invites me to know her sexually, and I invite her to know me sexually. We share our erotic possibilities in delight and ecstasy. If she wants me and I don't want her, I cannot lie. My body speaks only truth. And I cannot take her unless she gives herself. Her body cannot lie. If I see and hear my beloved, I know her more than if I just see her. But if I touch, smell and taste her, I know her still more. But she will not allow me to come that close if she doesn't trust me or want me to know her.
–Sidney M. Jourard