Loving, Longing, Yearning for My Beloved

When will I see my Beloved? To feel arms surround me, a touch to comfort me, the warmth  of an embrace to shelter me from any harm man can devise against another.

I seek protection in those arms. The reward You bestow for simply living, for being alive in the moment when my Love ripens and blossoms, nurtured like a flower by Your sun during the day, and Your cool breeze to help petals close at night.

I am counting the hours, the minutes until I see You again, Your eyes, Your lips. That smile that forces my heart to jump. I get amnesia away from You. Your Essence is all that is Good, and to recall It in Its fullest splendor is beyond a mere mortal’s might. Will I ever see Your real face? It would blind me, take my life away, a life I’d gladly give to witness, truly see You All today, tomorrow, any time You’d wish it. Make me the richest man in the Universe by letting me always be with You. And in You. And of You.

What should I call You then? How will I recognize you? Who will you become in this earthly realm I live? Someone like Sarah, Marianne or Susan? Will you be Jessica, so youthful and pure? Or become a Reiki teacher — a Lisa — offering Sufi readings to contemplate Your Beloved nature. Reflexology never opened my heart like your hands opened the door to such mystical paths  for “Lovers.”

Perhaps I will see you as Geraldine,  Regina,  or Rita, who grasped my Love and held it through long memories that grow richer every day, year after year. How many forms have you chosen to come to me, to show Love? All the time, welcoming me as a best friend, a companion, a trusted lover. [Rochelle.]

Will this desire for you end? Perhaps, never.

But what of the longing? The pain, the tears and sorrow I feel from the pit of my cellar-dwelling imperfect Self. How could some One so beautiful, so all-knowing and so full of compassion continually  forgive a No One as small and as weak as I am when I slip from your Light and fall into the darkest place of a coal-blackened hell. Again . . .  And again. Only to return to beg with head bowed, hoping that You take me back, let me sit in Your shadow and repent for absolution.

Love me like a child, a mate, a man. Love me for my human failings. And for being mindful of where True Love rests. 

See you at our Lovefest.

6 comments on “Loving, Longing, Yearning for My Beloved

  1. Love this, really love this. I like the man’s perspective, and the asking for forgiveness. The longing, the yearning, the wishing, Is all familiar to me. “Love me like a child” really is a powerful statement. I learned a lot about loving through this clip I saw on Oprah’s life class with T.D Jakes- He taught all of us women how to really listen, and how to love: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=u5vx4zzcoGw&noredirect=1


    • contoveros says:

      I have no idea what I am responding to, but the child in me tells me not to be afraid . . .

      Thanks for your sisterly comment. Or was that more a motherly concern I detected in your heart of hearts?

      I don’t care where the love comes from. I feel calm and sedated. Now I can go face the day and take on more meditation techniques . . .


  2. […] hit rock bottom, almost giving up hope for her daughter, when she fell to her knees one night, prayed to her “Beloved,” and, first the first time in years, wept like […]


  3. […] end, hit rock bottom, almost giving up hope for her daughter, when she fell to her knees one night, prayed to her “Beloved,” and, first the first time in years, wept like a […]


  4. …….


    This is one of the most poignant and meaningful supplications I have ever had the privilege of being allowed to read.

    It is also one of the most erotic due to the absolute naked trust you are displaying with your words.

    S very beautiful, so very moving – I hope with all my heart that whatever or whomever you have addressed in this post will be able to touch you in some way Michael.

    Some very special way…

    I wish you well my friend,



    • contoveros says:


      This was draining to write, but uplifting to read . . . It’s about the many faces God appears in people who touch and move me, and the love my recall of them — their Goodness, their God-like compassion — still generates, particularly, when I’m down. It offers strength to get back up. To be with, in, and of, my “Beloved.”

      michael j


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