You’ve known him for three months. You’ve been hanging out regularly. You’re not quite sure where it’s going in the long-term, but you’re having a pretty decent time. You hang out a couple-few times a week. He enjoys your company and wants to be with you. He makes you laugh. And you feel great when you’re around him.
But lately, something has been different.
It feels like something is missing. You don’t quite know what it is, but you know it’s there. You feel it. You can’t tangibly explain it, but your intuition is certain about it.
A slight shift… An edge that’s dulled just a touch… It’s just a little less bright…
Things are still wonderful, but it’s just…different. Just a little more…less than there was before.
I once heard that you really don’t know someone until you’ve spent about 90 days with them on a regular basis. During that time, they’re so different than you are. You adjust your behavior and perceptions a bit. And they do the same.
But after about 90 days, something shifts in both of you. What was once different is now familiar. You’re comfortable with each other…or you somehow decide that you don’t really like that person, or you like them less than you thought you did, or you like them more than you thought you did.
But something always departs as familiarity comes in.
There’s something we love about the people that we’re most comfortable around.
But there’s something about the people that most bother us that really sticks with us. Often, being a friend, lover, former lover, family member, stranger, etc, it’s those people who perturb us who stay in our minds, embroiled with some sort of passion, positive or negative.
When you imagine that kind of person, that kind of person that seems so different from you that you either revere the mystery of who and how they are, or your frustration with their being charges you on all levels.
Relationship vs. Polarity
To love and revere the mystery of someone’s existence is at the opposite end of the spectrum of that all-consuming frustration.
This is polarity: How different are you from the other person in a way that charges you, positively or negatively, in a way that nearly consumes you.
Polarity is separateness.
Of course, polarity is a spectrum. You don’t have to hate someone to feel apart from them. You could just feel…sort of…different.
And as you feel less and less different, and more and more the same, this is what defines relationship.
Relationship is similarity.
Imagine a line moving through you, infinitely, from your left to your right. On the left are your negative feelings. On the right are your positive feelings. The further you move away from yourself to the left or the right, this is how wonderful or terrible those feelings are that come up about someone.
Maybe someone hurt you terribly and you still have anger toward them. That would be far to your left. Maybe you love someone so deeply that you’d do anything for them. That would be far to your right.
Placing someone on this line will give you a sense of your polarity with them.
And you, right in the middle, the closer they are to you, that is how much you relate to them similarly. That is the quality of “relationship.”
This can shift, too. In one moment, you might love your partner so deeply that you’d do anything for them. In the next, you may want to destroy them in the midst of your rage at their loss of presence. In the next, you might wonder how it is that you so easily get along…how things could be so easy with someone else.
Your sense of relationship and polarity with someone is always shifting, moment to moment.
Do You Want Passion?
You Must Cultivate Polarity.
When you talk about how “the passion is gone,” what you are really saying, deep down, is that you know each other so well, there are no surprises. You know each other so well and you give each other so much of what (you think) the other needs, that things are really pleasant, comfortable, and unsurprising.
If you want passion, you must bring polarity back into your relationship. You must look more at your differences than you have been.
Ideally, if you want only positive polarity (And, in your feminine, you would be miserable to have only good things for all of eternity. How miserably boring.), you see those differences and appreciate, love, and revere the mystery of the Other.
But, chances are, you’ll also want some negative polarity in there. Some banter… Teasing… Biting… Spanking… Poking at each other and pushing the other’s buttons… And, sometimes, you’ll want to burn his record collection. Right in front of him. And everyone else. In a crowded parking lot…of a record store.
Playing in The Edges of Polarity
The ultimate offering of the feminine is your surrender. Of the masculine, presence.
In the throes of anger and reverence, hatred and worship, love and apathy, you can move to the edges of polarity by offering your fullest surrender only to his deepest presence.
Some moments, you will lead with your surrender. Some moments, he will lead with his presence.
Casablanca would have been an entirely different movie if Humphrey Bogart had been less present or if Ingrid Bergman had been less surrendered.
But the moment when Humphrey Bogart delivers the famous line…
…it doesn’t take much to see that the problems of three little people don’t amount to a hill of beans in this crazy world. Someday you’ll understand that.
…there’s a separation he creates between himself and Ingrid Bergman by minimizing what they both know they have.
If he had said “I love you, and we will meet again one day.” it would have brought them closer and the entire tone of the movie would shift. But it’s the separateness he creates that makes the magic of that scene, the movie, and the polarity between the two.
If you want more passion in your relationship, it is only in allowing your differences that you give passion the room to flourish.