2.

The summer's story starts with a breakup. Probably it should start with the relationship, which began on Memorial Day weekend, appropriately enough. We spent a wonderful month together, not really in a conventional relationship, but in something that was, something. Then that ended, and by his choice. From where I sit now, I have gone through the pain and the anger, and have come to see my ex as, like all of us, flawed. But none of that eliminates the pain that I felt when he put a stop to our relationship. However selfish or shallow or whatever, he is a beautiful, smart, and spiritual person, and we had a very unusual and deep connection. For a time.

After the breakup, I needed to reassert my physicality and regain my confidence. My ex was younger and more attractive than I am, and because he so rarely complimented me or even addressed my emotional needs, I often felt ugly in his presence. I needed to feel "hot" again. And so I made some changes. First, I started training for the marathon, which I will hopefully be running shortly after this issue of Zeek goes online. I needed a physical goal that would be a challenge for me, and I have definitely experienced that challenge over the past several months. I am now able to run twelve miles without much noticing it, eighteen if I push myself, and hopefully twenty six miles without expiring. In June, I was stretched after a measly four.

Second, and less productively, I began sleeping around, with both men and women, all with while noticing how unsatisfying, and yet right, it all felt. Twelve partners over the course of a month is not that high by some standards - I'm sure many men sleep with that many partners every few weeks. But it was certainly high for me, and uncharacteristic of the way I live my life. Yet I didn't lose myself at any point; I did it all quite consciously, and quite aware of how differently from my ordinary life I was behaving. Because I had just come back from a weeklong meditation retreat when I was dumped, I was able to see all too clearly how my mind and heart were working -- never perfectly, but more clearly than usual. And as I have already mentioned, I consulted with my teacher about what I was going through.

"I confused equanimity with passivity," I said to her. "I gave and gave and gave in this relationship, and didn't take, or demand, what was mine. Well, I'm a 32-year-old gay man in New York City, and I'm going to have some fun."

I expected a condemnation, but did not receive one. My teacher said that I was playing with energy, told me to be be safe, and advised me to watch my heart.

I watched. There was definitely an energy, unusual for me, in being libidinous, hedonistic, and promiscuous. I was playing with it, rolling with it, dancing. The sex was unsatisfying, and yet satisfying. It was self-centered when my self needed centering, and it was sensual and shallow when I needed shallow (i.e. not too confrontational) sensuality. I was playing, dancing, reveling in my own sexuality and sensuality, even while I grieved the lost relationship. I knew this was "rebound" activity, and I wasn't fulfilled by it, but I didn't expect to be fulfilled -- that's not what it was about. And I was feeling energy. There was a yang power within me, a young, male, virile, and vibrant power that I was only beginning to awaken. The running was part of it, too - the physicality, the struggle. I taught a weeklong class in "Embodied Judaism," and it couldn't have been better timed - I felt as though I was learning, after years of being the wimpy Jewish kid who didn't play sports, to challenge my body and feel it respond.

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