How Many Spouses in the Village?

Our house always has at least one husband. Today there are two.

I've been in an ongoing experiment, playing with devotional partnership from an expansive, enormous framework.

I am living the question, "what happens if I am continually welcoming love, welcoming people as resources rather than regarding them as threats to my system or to each other?"

It has me feeling like I have many spouses in this life.

Someone asked me the other night, after I referred to my roomies, tongue-in-cheek, as my wife and husband, how many spouses do I have? and I spun out a little bit.

With whom do I feel shoulder to shoulder in this life?

Who do I know as my family, ancient and new?

Whose children feel correct on my shoulders, in my arms?

Who is building the vision that I am building?

With whom do I party naked, fully permitted to be the animal my body is?

So, SO many wonderful aligned humans in this world.

Seemingly more each day.

Our hearts are weaving, and calcified definitions, especially around the romantic dyad and nuclear family, make less and less sense as we enter the reality of knowing our interdependence, our interconnection.

As we embody the truth of our bodies' relationships and what they really mean, connection is clearly nourishment, and we release the depletive practice of treating connection as threat.

We regard the responsibilities of life as gifts, not chores or obligations, but sacred rites of service.

It is as sacred to leave your dirty dishes in the sink as it is to wash all that's left there.

It is a privilege to find the laundry in the dryer, and to lend my hand to make it a neat pile on the bed.

Cooking for three is at least as easy as cooking for one, and more than three times as rewarding.

Today, wifey left me with two husbands to feed. Two husbands who had both stocked the fridge with food. We ate breakfast together and I cleaned the kitchen, except for the pans, which Leo likes to do. We all know the zen garden effect of doing the chores.

We all spoke to other present human bodies the stresses of work and life, we all had our ribcages squeezed, our eyes looked into, our experiences reflected and valued.

They ask me, "how are you making this work, this life in the village?"

I wonder "how has this culture obfuscated something so simple?"

It is a privilege to relate to others in the sacred mundanity of life.

It is a delight to meet what is ordinary with extraordinary presence and play.