Abby's journal



July 20, 2018


Steve is inclined to quietly go back and delete one of my entries, but I am making him feel that the more straightforward way is to address it in a new one. Some time back, I indicated that I permitted, if not encouraged, Steve to watch a tasteful lovemaking scene online, to relieve the building pressure of the longing for physical sex. He is in his mid-60's, but still has much of the virility of his youth, and he is committed to never having sex with anyone else the remainder of his life. So this is, of course, the problem with a cross-dimensional relationship, and for that matter, any long-distance relationship.

Sex is highly addicting, which, from both the practical and the spiritual point of view, is the biggest problem with it. You don't realize how addicted you are becoming, at the time. It is only later, when you can't have it, that you realize how captive you are.

So what I had said, before, is that if you have the willpower to indulge in the least banal video you can find, and the most loving, and you can watch that only once, and not return to it, then it can relieve some of that pressure. And that I didn't mind. I knew Steve was really longing for me. If I nudged him to find a girl who looked like me, it was actually me he was seeing.

All of that is true, again, if one has the willpower to control it. Steve does, though that is rare.

That was some months ago, and Steve found himself once again beset by the troublesome longing for physical sex, meaning, with a physical partner. We tried the same solution, and this time, it appears we actually found a real couple who actually love each other. But it did not sit well. Why? Partly because it is, in fact, so addicting, so that it is like scratching an itch, which then itches twice as much! (This would be true even if it were truly physical, and not just a video.) But Steve kept not feeling right about it, and this was partly because of me. This is what I wanted to briefly talk about.

We, here in the astral, can be more forgiving, more understanding, and more selfless, than we could while on earth. And I was always idealistic. I wanted to be selfless for my man, my true love. I feel very badly that I cannot be there for him in this way, as his wife and partner. So I tried to be selfless in this instance, knowing he would never turn to a real, physical woman.

But we are also human, here, and I always was jealous. So it remains uncomfortable for me, and Steve can feel it. Not jealous quite in the way that Steve would be, if the shoe was on the other foot (or not on it, as the case may be).* Women's jealousy is not always quite as men's is, in any case. I have given Steve to understand that it intensifies my feeling of inadequacy, as his partner. I would wish to be meeting his needs, instead of that "virtual woman" in the video, you see. I feel my inability to nuture and satisfy him, in this way, keenly. Here he is struggling, and I can do nothing about it because I don't have a darned body anymore! And that, because I stupidly let mine go too easily, based on Victorian ideals of death. Otherwise, you see, we would be synced up, today. Thus I berate myself.

Then there is the addictive quality. What we are dealing with, is what our Guru called "sanskaras" (usually spelled "samskaras" in other teachings). These are mental impressions of actions, which then press for re-experiencing. They are the basis for addiction. It was intensely pleasurable, but it wasn't complete, and so it presses for another experience which (one imagines) will be complete. And it never is; and thus the addiction builds.

It can be contained in a monogamous relationship, our Guru explains; but woe be to that person who lets it get outside of that context. Because of the sanskaras.

Steve is pausing, so that he doesn't take off and abscond with my entry, here...

So Steve tried to talk with me about it, and based on what he thought he was feeling, from me, he has promised that we will no-longer indulge in this solution. I gave him to understand that I didn't feel I could request it of him, but that I feel relieved about it. Steve can remember glimpses of our lovemaking--quite a few of them. He isn't always certain whether he's imagining it, but I have told him, yes, almost everything you remember really happened. And Mathew did make sly references to them in his stories. He kept tossing in little bits and pieces of memories about our life together, like cherry tomatoes in a salad! Do you want to see one? This is a tribute to Mark Twain's speech about the "Sandwich Islands," i.e., Hawaii. Mathew is having his ignorant character, "Ethan Spike," tell about the visit of the king of the island to his little backwoods Maine town of "Hornby." He says they killed almost all the town's chickens for the welcome feast, except two:

Yesterday was a proud day for Hornby--I belive I made a similar remark before. We had made due preparations for the reception of our illustrious guest, speshally in the way of eating and drinking. I do believ there's not a head of poultry alive in town, and we must import the base of our futer stock, though it is reported that one setten hin and a bob-tail rooster managed to hide in a hay-mow.

There are others--Steve wants to include them, but I am shy about it! Mathew was very clever about mixing them up, so no-one would ever know--and yet, he was kind of compulsive about including everything, somewhere, as though this would keep me alive. In a way, it did--because Steve recognizes them. Okay, one more, and then I'll decipher them for you.

Her bosom heaves and swells like a summer's sea, while her long, jet-black hair, hardly confined by a string, falls beautifully about her long swan-like neck.

Her toilet is completed!

She looks in the glass!

She rares up on her toes! Like a beautiful angel, she rares up on her toes!

She wriggles and twists like an angleworm! Well she might. A crisis has come in her girlhood. The night's history may color her whole destiny.

Why is the girl, so queen-like and beautiful as she rares up on her toes, thus precise at her toilet? The sequel of our tale will tell.

I'll give you this second one, first. First of all, I didn't have black hair, nor was I tall, as he also says in this story. I had curly, auburn hair. Mathew would take a few traits and reverse them, to hide my identity. At the time depicted in the story, I am 15 years old; my father is having a fall party for me. I am quite shy, and won't dance with any of the boys, even Mathew, until my father pairs me up with him. That's because I have been tutoring him for some time. I am in love with him; but he, being four years older, either doesn't see me that way, or can't admit that he does. I can't tell which it is. I know he will be coming (having heard it through the grapevine), and I am really trying to look my best! I am quite short, so I have to get on my tip-toes to look properly into the mirror. Of course, Mathew sees none of this at the time, but we will have talked about it later, when we were married.

In case you are wondering, Mathew is pretending to parody popular literature styles. But he is actually telling the story of how we first danced together. He thought I was exquisitely beautiful when I would "rare up on my toes"--he thought me an angel. I protested, of course, but was secretly pleased :-). And he also thought I was queen-like--he called me his "dauphine." I have told you these things, before.

But look out for anything which seems a little out-of-place, in Mathew's writing!!! Why would I "wriggle and twist like an angleworm," while sitting in front of the mirror, getting ready for a party? Well, ostensibly, because I was examining my handiwork, on this side and that side. But that's just the excuse--this reference is really about something else. It's actually his fond memory of pleasing me, sexually, on picnics, about a year later. It was such a delicious memory, and so important a part of our young courtship, that he had to put it somewhere--in disguise. Steve remembered this long before he found this story. He knew immediately all of these references, what they meant. He knew that he loved to see me "rare on my toes," and he pretty-much figured out why I did that. You see, men very much wished to view women's feet, in that day, and ankles, because they rarely caught a glimpse of them. And Mathew knew that mine were particularly graceful. I would pad around the house in my calico dress, and to keep Mathew's interest in me--because as a young bride, I was afraid he would lose interest once we had married, and he "had" me to himself, legally--I would keep things on a shelf that was too high for me. I would have to reach up to get them, you see, and that would provide a tantalizing glimpse of my ankles, for Matt! And he would stick around the kitchen, waiting for it to happen :-). (He thought it was just a lucky accident, like a rainbow.)**

Steve remembered this little scene, also, long before he found this hidden reference to it.

Just so with all the other scenes of our intimate courtship and marriage. So he can draw on those when he is missing physical companionship, and that will have to do, until we can be together, again.

Oh, the first reference...this was written in 1875, 44 years after my death! Mathew never forgot. It was a cliche for young couples to have their first sexual experience in a hay mow, or hay loft. But remember that Mathew was constantly inserting little bits and pieces of our relationship into his stories--like creating a sort of coded archive. So we did this--it is depicted in the novel that Steve wrote about our relationship, "Twin Stars Descending." Just like today, I could see that Mathew was getting frustrated. On picnics, we could do only so much, you see. I knew he wanted to be with me completely, and dispense with those clothes! So one day, after we had come back from horseback riding, I went up to the haymow--where I was supposed to be pitching hay down for the horses--undressed, folded my clothes neatly to one side, set out a blanket, pulled another one neatly over myself, and called to him. I told him, anything he wanted, except please not to risk pregnancy.

Matt never forgot that day, you can well believe! And it was something he had to include in the "archive," somehow. It took him 44 years to do it, and this is the reference. Steve remembered this, too, long before he ever found this brief allusion to it in Mathew's writing.

So we have our memories, our own cherished memories. They will suffice, for now, until Steve joins me, here. Then, I will show him what real sex is, here in the astral realm.

Love to each and all,

*I am quite capable of being jealous in the way that Steve might be, which is to say, fear of losing him, of being replaced--except that from here, I can see into his heart, and I know he's faithful and won't leave me. So with him, I can't be. I used to be afraid that he'd lose faith in me and abandon me for that reason, but all that is settled :-).

**Steve sheepishly wonders, in hindsight, whether I might not have been "raring up on my toes" in some other context, as well (along with the wriggling, that is). Well, if that's what he was remembering, he certainly would have hidden it very carefully...and so will we. While we're being so candid, I'll tell you this much--I would often express my concern to Matt (especially, at first), that I must look horrible in the moment of passion--I was very embarrassed to think of it, and afraid he would not think me beautiful, then, but rather that I must look foolish. He would reassure me as to how beautiful I was to him--still, angelic and queenly, as he always saw me. Perhaps he is fondly recollecting those reassurances. (Truthfully, I was a bit "proper" at that age, and he liked to see me let my hair down a bit, which is one reason he loved to make me laugh.)
[I think that Abby had developed the habit of standing tip-toe, from her private tutoring in classical dance, and that this is also what I was remembering. I do know that she danced privately for Mathew, or in his presence. So it would have been a reference to several things at once.--S]