Love Letter to Anaïs Nin, whore

"Johnny is in love, what can one say...? I looked the girl over." - Anais Nin

"He carries pictures of me in his pocket." - Anaïs Nin

"I have seen men forget the beautiful women they possessed, forget the prostitutes, and remember the first woman they idolized, the woman they never could have." - Anaïs Nin, Henry and June

"Hier is de vrije wil van de mens! "Kruisig Hem!" - Adolph E. Knoch

Dedication

”To my Father in Heaven, the Father of Jesus Christ."

And my way back to Genesis which comes at the end again.

My Love Letter to Anaïs Nin, writer, whore

Aionian romance 

The greatest Love Story ever begins in Genesis 2:22 with the creation of the woman and ends in Revelation 21:9. It is the sacred romance of the aions, which is behind the stage of the Bible. All our love stories reflect to this Aionian drama! Who is this mysterious Lady? And what is she doing in the Bible?

This Love Letter to Anaïs Nin is my part of this aionian romance and both my way to thank my Father in Heaven, the Father of Jesus Christ! We share the same life-attitude; she writes: “I am no adventurer, I miss my home, familiar streets, those I love and know well.” 

My message would be: "uprootedness versus the salvation of ALL": 1 Kor. 15:28. We ALL see each other back at the consummation of the aions! That's the good news! Colossians 1:20: Apokatalaxai ta panta = reconciliation of all.

Anais Nin versus apostle Paul of Tarsus

This website balances between Anaïs Nin and the apostle Paul of Tarsus; the whore versus the psychopath. Both express my David & Goliath Syndrome, which means "I" alone against the "Big Babylon World," bashing religious rock 'n roll.

- Adding the Greek word Aion to Anaïs Nin's vocabulary and the Greek aorian time, transforming an act into a fact. She writes: "A universe without time is the universe inside of one. In the great empty space in which we are lost, the hour is the one set even by the planets when they wish to grow nearer each other, or even eclipse each other! Or there would be no conjunctions."

...This is missing the mark completely since the Aions shape time and universe! Aion is to say Immanuel, God with us! The universe really is an expression of love within this aionian tragedy. 

* maandag 8 juni 2009 (A.N. website since august 2001, © Anaïs Nin)

Anaïs Nin (1903-1977) was schrijfster, psychoanalitica, echtgenote, glamourgirl en hoer. Deze website gaat over mijzelf, Anaïs Nin en Jezus Christus. De apostel Paulus van Tarsus is het vertrekpunt van mijn Odyssee. 

* Literature: Heleen Keizer: the Greek word Aion, Bob Evely: at the end of the ages, Adolph E. Knoch: the mystery of the gospel. Concordant studies of André Piet and Martin Zender.

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Anais Nin, february 1934; Donald & Elsie

Life. Literature. I am sitting here with a fever, and a desire not to explain. Has this notebook a new accent? Has the diary truly died? I am like an opium addict, lost without my drug. Donald, the young Scotchman Elsie loved and betrayed, is staying here too. I have to watch him every moment, for he gets up out of bed to jump out of the window. Fortunately, the French windows are rusty, creaky, and take time to open, and I hear him and hold him back. He raves and rants. "It is not the betrayal which I can't take, Anaïs. I expected that from Elsie, somehow.

In our most passionate moments, she would say: 'Donald, you are too young, too young.' I knew there was another man because she would never stay with me all night. But why did she not tell me? She came to Paris with me, we were very happy together, she gave herself with such abandon, and then when I became suspicious of her life in London, and when she refused to marry me, I went to London and I found out about Justin, and that they were planning to marry. But none of this really matters, none of this would make me want to die."

He sobbed for a while. I held his hand. He was so young, about twenty, dark-haired and violent, with burning eyes.

"What made you want to die, Donald?"

"I will tell you what, if I can, if I can. I am not sure I can describe it. But when I went to London and found out . . . found out that Elsie was about to marry Justin and not me, and when I faced her with my discovery, and begged her to tell me the truth, and to free me, to let me go, not to hang on to me, and tell me lies, when I wept and pleaded, and made a scene, she stood there, and instead of showing some feeling, even a little pity for me who loved her with my body and soul, instead of being warm, and helping me, consoling me, saying something, asking for forgiveness, explaining, justifying herself, she smiled. She gave me a long, cool, satanic smile."

As he told me this, he made one wild leap out of bed and rushed to the studio. I called the Spaniard and ran after Donald. He fumbled with the heavy and rusty studio windows, and I pulled him away with the help of the Spaniard.

Elsie broke the only law, the only law I respect: don't inflict unnecessary pain. That smile!

The fever gives a strange rhythm to my thoughts. Now, at last, I understand the plain chant of the neurotics. When I hear the laments of the neurotic-romantic, I recognize the tone. It is not a complaint born of what is happening; it is born of what they had imagined, expected, dreamed; and the lament seems out of proportion. Elsie's smile! To Donald it was the smile of cruelty. Donald had dreamed of a woman feeling with him, with him against the cruelties of life, of destiny; he had not dreamed cruelties of her own doing. She signed the cruelty with her own name. Did she enjoy it? Was it a smile of triumph at her power to hurt? Donald's accusing tone, reproaches. One thinks: he is a coward. He cannot take the blows. But consider for a moment what Donald had "imagined." The greatest love of the century! Passion an absolute. He was a full-fledged romantic, who had been dashed from the top of the highest mountain, Olympus. So call the doctor and ask for a sedative, and explain to the French doctor why he wants to die, and watch him shrug philosophical shoulders. "One does not die of love."

"I am going to kill her," said Donald, with fists clenched, as he awakened from the effects of the sedative.

He has to abolish that smile.

So I coax him into dressing, into a taxi, and I take him to Allendy, who had been analyzing Elsie.

* Whatever you did or think of yourself, christ loves you.

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* When humans build an army--or a football team--they choose the strongest, the fastest, and the gutsiest. It's all about physical advantage and the potential for stomping the competition. God's army is just a tad different: He chooses unwise, weak and ignoble people, some of whom may be ready to give up on life. Feeling washed up? Feeling like a failure? Got a little extra fat around your midsection? Then hang on for the ride; you may be God's next number one draft pick. God Drafts Ignoble People

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* I don’t have any friends