February 3rd, 1982
The evening dreams of spring; a slow steady rain washes the city all day and leaves a twilight mist hovering, ane ephemeral canopy creating halos above the street lights. The air is balmy and breezy. I perceive the city through Buddha eyes— the constant forming and unforming of elements— creating and being and ceasing.
Tonight I had a date with Howie— my god of golden thunder whom I have adored for so long. We met in front of the Waverly and walked through a light rain to little Italy. We had a good meal and a nice visit at Porto Alba. Afterward, enjoying the spring-like evening and the sights and sounds of the village we walked together— talking— up and down quiet charming streets. On 6th Avenue, he stopped and kissed me. Having his arms around me is the reward of 10 months of waiting and believing.
What is mine will come to me. If I cooperate and relax and let the energy flow— my destiny will fulfill itself.
How beautiful Howie is— there is a lovely tenderness about him— and a quickness— a brightness. I like him. I respect him very much. And for this to be reciprocated is a great joy.
It’s wonderful to share myself with a sober man in the program. No games— no manipulation— no grandiosity or secrets— honesty— and that marvelous frightening willingness to be vulnerable.
