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"Cusa lived 600 years ago," I reminded her.
"Of course he did," but he is still my friend. "I feel close to him, because of what he represents."
I loved listening to Helen. She was right, of course. Certainly she was right about me. I had not known before what love is. I had never seen it as a universal impetus that grows out of ourselves, that needs to be understood in its universal context or else it can't be understood at all. Helen had opened up a whole New World to me with vast new implications that I suddenly had to face. But did I understand any of it? Probably not. Obviously, that was the reason why I had let my hands fall away from her breast.
At one point in our conversation, with our drinks and snacks in hand, Helen showed me the rest of her apartment. The apartment had a balcony, accessible through the kitchen, with a view of a small park. The bathroom, however, was tiny, with barely enough room for a tub and a small counter. There was a blue glowing glass sculpture at the end of the counter. The single bedroom on the other hand was large. The bedroom furniture was modern, painted white. Her bed was huge, king sized, if not bigger. A floor-to-ceiling mirror graced one wall.
Shortly after we entered the room Helen turned the main lights off. She shed her gown and crawled into bed. "Come, Peter," she said gently.
My reaction must have seemed like that of an idiot. I just stood there and couldn't move. I wanted to respond. I wanted this above anything I could think of, to be with her, but I couldn't move.
"Do I make you feel uncomfortable?" she asked. "But why should you feel that way? How many times a week do you go to bed with your wife? Every night, usually. Am I right? So, why not now? Am I not a woman just like your wife is? Or am I a lesser woman?"
"No Helen, you are a great woman and a great person. You are a dream to be with."
"Ah, that's not it," she said and smiled. "Are you saying then that you have never had any close, intimate moments of sexual sharing with a woman before in your entire life? Is that why you are hesitant?"
"Of course I had sexual encounters with a woman before, on countless occasions, with my wife," I answered.
I remembered that I had begun to laugh as I said this. I sounded so stupid, so silly. It was obvious what this was leading towards, but it was also rather beautiful what was unfolding, as it brought to light what the principle of truthfulness with oneself really is. It came to light as something far greater than I had thought it to be. I could think of no principle to support the narrow concept that I had clung to for so long. Still, I let the train of thinking continue in order to discover what else I had not discovered before.
"Then you are saying to me that I am not as much a human being as your wife is?" Helen continued our conversation, which she may have recognized had become a game, but one that needed to be played out to the logical end to clear the air.
"No, Helen, you are a beautiful human being and a beautiful woman all at the same time," I replied in my defense, "who could ask for anything more?"
"Tell me then, Peter, what prevents you from being truthful with yourself, and with me? Would you not love to be with me in this bed, this very minute?"
"I would love nothing better," I answered. "It would be the greatest joy. I have dreamed about a situation like this for so long, like you wouldn't believe, and here I stand and find it difficult to take that one last simple step. I am idiot, right? I am untruthful with myself and with you. Do you want me to tell you why? The reason is that we have all been taught for centuries to be untruthful with ourselves and with one-another. That's why I can't move."
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