My God this is scary. I am crying while writing this. I don't cry much. I just discovered that this site exists. I did a search on Paedophilia on wikipaedia and found a link to Philia and did a bit of browsing and was surprised that there is an organisation like this!!
I am so broken. Lord what a cross. I composed this recently:

Look into my eyes, smile at me, smile with me.
My eyes light up with the radiance of your face.
Look here, be here, close to my face, intimately.
Let light shine between our eyes
Let the light that beams from your face freshly
Be the bond in which we see each other in wonder.

The look of your face, the youth and life it shows
Aroused my heart, startled me and left me wanting
Shocked me and surprised me.
What I see is that you live in a stream of life that surges so lively
Purely like the morning sun upon gurgling water
And the first breath of the forest.

The life I saw elevated me quickly
And I felt I knew how to fly
How to live in rarefied air
How to journey at the heights.
Your face it shines and pulls me into revelries
Sublime and holy.

What I see lightening you, lightens me
What I see enlightening you, enlightens me
What I sense is spirit whose whispers turn me into spirit.
And so I move toward ecstasy, toward a higher, newer element
Where nothing stays within its bounds
But reaches into everything else in love and joy.
Your appearance takes me there, and yet—
Your person does not participate in the ecstasy now possible
And necessary.

A window is opened and I see the heights
I am pulled up, purified, rarefied
I see too much, and too little
I am taken to another place yet made to remain here
Forced to stay myself, in myself
Rather than make heaven descend by elevating us
In kisses, embraces, wondrous gazes
Tender caresses arising from unending surges of love
As from an endless beginning.

The ecstatic pain is in being stretched between heaven and earth
Between losing oneself and staying oneself
Why must I endure seeing beyond what is now possible?
If I could I would lose myself in loving you.
But without your acceptance I must become spirit
Only to be limited as spirit.
Your appearance giving and refusing my spirit’s space.
Your beauty delighting and wounding at once.
Your lovely face gives me wings and holds them down.

The songs of the spirit have planted their seeds in me
And the pressure to grow is immense
But so is the resistance.
Who would play and fly with me in such rarefied air?
Who would dance the dance of angels?
Or become innocent and sweet again like children?
Who could bear the kisses, the caresses, the embraces I would give?
Nothing so pure, so innocent, so divine belongs down here.
I suffer the poet’s unbelonging.

**********

Two words, Burtil Guve.
Don't worry, this site is not pornographic:
http://movieboy.angeltowns.net/bertil_guve.htm

I have never looked at boy pornography and never would. I have a deep relation with the Lord, and even putting aside prudential matters, I would not bring myself to have sexual relations with boys.

It is so confusing. Burtil Guve. What superlatives could describe his face? I watched Fanny and Alexander and was completely captured. The intensity of his face--why does it do that to me? Why does it make me want to cry in joy and pain at once? What is this flame?

Previously it was Hayley Joel Osment. Sixth Sense. Then Pay it Forward. What sadness and longing stirred when I saw him on those movies. Was it his depth? The depth and intelligence in his eyes? His cute, smooth face? The little cute squint? His vulnerability? What?
And then AI.
Was it that the character--or the actor--knew the depths of soul that mine knows, knows what it means to grow old too quickly because of trauma and intelligence and seriousness and taking the world on your shoulders plus the insecurity of an emotionally abusive father plus the temperament of mine that makes me withdraw into my own internal world, looking out from a place of alienation. Is it that I never was allowed to play as a child and now my body has grown up and my spirit is trapped back there??
WHAT IS IT?????

How much prayer, how much ministry is needed? Is there an end?
Is this love and longing good and beautiful, a gift from God?
This gift--the wings of the soul that Plato talks about in the Phaedo--these wings that come with daggers--as Gibran talks about in the Prophet, on Love. This love that I feel descends on me and makes everything in me soft and tender and longing and wanting to be close, so close to his face, his helpless smooth body, just let me care for you and tell you its all fine. And in this love that descends and rises in me upon the appearance of the boys face, the hearing of the sweet voice--oh what ecstasies come with the sound of the boys choir--in this tenderness at once physical and spiritual there is a dagger driving down into my heart, deepening my soul, the pressure placed on it by the Lord himself, making me bleed, cry, love, cry, love, want....

Oh do you know HOW BEAUTIFUL the face and spirit of the boy is?!!?
Is this the pleasure and pain felt when the face of God is seen? If there is purgatory, a glance at beauty like this added to the feeling of being separate from who is SO BELOVED, who makes such a mad love rise up--that would suffice.

What dreams have I had. The boy, the boy. Always wanting to care, to heal to hold. Don't worry, I will hold you, be near you.
Oh what need I have for him to need me.

With these words I bare myself and bear to you the mystery of my being.
Lord, it is too much. Too much love breaks me. Let me find solace in the idea of giving up. I cannot save me. Nothing helps. This is how it is. I give up. Its too hard. (Jesus, that's your cue).

Sigh.
.....................

I needed that.
How satisfying it is to confess this thing so dangerous and beautiful, so unholy and holy, so needing to be said, so unable to be said.

I am a dam.
So much water--tenderness and sorrow.
I want the dam to break.


************
What is all this?
What to do?


Bertil.