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Self Discovery: The Essence of Passion

For those that know me, I am a whore for monogamy. I love relationships. I adore them. I love waking up with my arms and legs wrapped around a woman, her head under my chin. I love dating a beautiful woman (a source of my problems), and taking her somewhere and just basking in her beauty. Its nothing short of heaven for me. But I think its important for my readers, and even my friends who happen to glance at my blog, why I think that way.

Since I can remember, I’ve enjoyed my solitude. I do a lot of thinking when I’m alone. When I was a kind, I was content playing alone. I created my own universes out of my Hot Wheels and my action figures. I had plenty of friends, from church, school, and the neighborhood, so when I was in the mood to play I always had someone to run around with. But I remember spending time with my friends and being more than ready to get home to my room, my sanctum sanctorum. It was there, in the privacy of myself, I could create. That creation was uninhibited by the outside world. I had my drums, my toys, and my mind. Nirvana.

As the years went by, I obviously found myself needing to interact more with others. High school, I had a solid group of friends, but I still was a complete different animal than those I ran with. Most of them were athletes. I was a musician. And so on. College was really the place where things began to congeal and I really started to see Bryce. For those of you familiar with the LA scene, you know its more about being seen than having fun. Thus as I matriculated through my late teens and early twenty… This propensity to become antisocial became more prevalent. I partied in high school. Not much at LMU. I had the time of my life at 17, I was chilling by 20. People were not fulfilling the roles that I needed them to be, thus, I had no usage for them besides background noise.

So that explains my “ehhhness” towards friends. Those guys and girls I love are drawn to me and they never leave. Those who leave were not meant to be in my life. Not to mention my scratching post/confidant is my mother. My mentor and my guide my father. My partner in crime, my sister. I’ve had no burning need for “friends”. Those who I loved and loved me stuck around. Real recognizes real.

Alright so how does this translate to love? My parents are disgusting. They’ve been married 30 years this year and they still laugh together. They eat lunch together. They chase each other around the house. They talk. They go on gay dates. They’re just romantically gay. And I love every moment of it. I grew up with that. Their marriage was literally in my baby formula. My corn flakes. My spaghetti. It was engraved into me that this was IT. You want THIS. Regardless of the people that rotated in and out of their lives, Sam and Marcel Brown were concerned about them. They came first. Then everything and everyone else. Well God came first, then them, then.. K yea.

Thus young Bryce has been imparted with this neurosis: find love, nurture it. From age 18 to 21 I just went for shit. Beautiful gorgeous women. The very pictures of femininity. My God how I loved it. The long hair, the soft skin. The soft lips. The sensual eyes. The curves.

God yes.

But all lasciviousness aside, this is how I view THAT woman:

In the moment shared between I and her, time itself ceases to exist. Sitting on a wooden post overlooking the ocean, the connection we have plunges deeper than the rocky cliff. I breathe her and she enters me. She inhales me and I consume her. The amalgamation of two spirits. I see this woman as merely the feminine extension of me, holding every jangling, dangling key to my heart. I am her treasure. All guards down I am hopelessly vulnerable to her. She parades through my soul like a captain inspecting his barracks.
We search for God together. Wet cheeks and bent knees, we graciously implore His Majesty to heap His blessing upon us. She opens her Bible, she speaks Proverbs 18:21. I have found a good thing.
She climbs into my solitude. Appreciates my recluse. She crawls into my arms and fills the spaces of my heart with her essence. Her hand upon my beating chest, saying nothing, I heard a mellifluous chorus of the angels. & when She opens her mouth and the marrow of her words vitalize every part of me.

She is my ezer kenegdo loosely translated from Hebrew as my helper, but better understood as my lifesaver. She is the completion of myself, my step to perfection made manifest. Loving her is worshiping the Lord. Cultivating her heart, is tilling the very soil of my soul. She is the flesh of my flesh, the bone of my bone. She is that who I allow to pierce me. She knows the interstices of my soul and she plunges her hands into them.

I hold her as I’d hold a priceless diamond. With her I am rich. She is the manifestation of God’s tender and gentle heart and I lead her and care for her as his incarnation of power.

She is my muse. She inspires me to create, challenges me to grow, and entices me to dream. She doesn’t care about my finances, because I provide for her the world. She doesn’t care about her fears, because I protect her with my life. She knows that I’m the one, because the Lord has shown her light.

That is beautiful. That’s how I view love. An irreversible, irreplaceable, never ending story of passion and reward. Even through the pains and the struggles.

I’m praying everyday for that. Its going to be glorious. What’s funny is I still didn’t even capture of the depth of how I feel about this mystery woman. But I think its best that she and she alone ever truly see that.



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