Just yesterday
Not so very long ago I was twenty-something and struck down by Love -- yes, the capital L version -- having dabbled about a little in it, being inevitably struck down in it by the backhanded repercussions of my sentimental ownership/s of those mere pretty object/s so desired, so half-malleable, so wrong; and it happened when I was looking in the other, another direction and empathetically considering the painful sorrow mixed with patent pride of two parents for their daughter-child who were, all three, standing before me, pleading to look further into the on-the-brink life of that daughter who was, for all practical purposes, being put into the hands of the likes of me.
Years later, I have asked such questions of myself, my wife, and of God and eternity as I was asked that day, to the bulk of which I was required to say "un-huh, I understand how you feel..." (I did not) and in the end to which I had to say, "No," upon which they unrelentingly repeated their appeal/s.
That is the teaser: I am going to let it rest for the moment (I have my reasons) and go on to point out that that is what is so refreshing about love -- that it moves from self-love to other-love to full bloom: join my in sorrow for ... whether yourself or not ... for those who get stuck somewhere nearer the start or the middle of the painful progress and make the perilous leap from that too-early stage into the permanence of marriage, which may be and I think is the major fault line leading to the only-too-common big crack-ups that end in too frequent divorce.
Love is painful, love is sweet, love is ... just across the street: a major eight-lane highway clogged with rushing traffic across which one must risk one's beating heart to reach the smallest great island of Love whereupon itself is embedded, rooted, convicted, and most of all committed to permanence against all winds and tides and the intermittent traffic spotted by the naturally wandering eye.
Here is a little something (under the title "Long and boring, and written very long ago.") 'written' on May 14, 2005, for mp3 that belongs on permanent wax-sans-digital, which cries out beyond the mere recording and throughout the sole soul of the artist -- and artist he is -- striving to arrive at resolution of his mixed motivations that, as I was saying at the first, probably, then, should be kept on hold while he runs out and makes a committment of himself to his blooming talents and skills before getting waylaid, so to speak, by the way ... on which he is wending.
Just yesterday I was in love when I suddenly, unexpectedly, at a glance, fell into Love from which I have never relented; but I ... I may not be now or may not then have been so talented as is this artist dangling amidst the struggle while rolling in the first fruits of love.
Years later, I have asked such questions of myself, my wife, and of God and eternity as I was asked that day, to the bulk of which I was required to say "un-huh, I understand how you feel..." (I did not) and in the end to which I had to say, "No," upon which they unrelentingly repeated their appeal/s.
That is the teaser: I am going to let it rest for the moment (I have my reasons) and go on to point out that that is what is so refreshing about love -- that it moves from self-love to other-love to full bloom: join my in sorrow for ... whether yourself or not ... for those who get stuck somewhere nearer the start or the middle of the painful progress and make the perilous leap from that too-early stage into the permanence of marriage, which may be and I think is the major fault line leading to the only-too-common big crack-ups that end in too frequent divorce.
Love is painful, love is sweet, love is ... just across the street: a major eight-lane highway clogged with rushing traffic across which one must risk one's beating heart to reach the smallest great island of Love whereupon itself is embedded, rooted, convicted, and most of all committed to permanence against all winds and tides and the intermittent traffic spotted by the naturally wandering eye.
Here is a little something (under the title "Long and boring, and written very long ago.") 'written' on May 14, 2005, for mp3 that belongs on permanent wax-sans-digital, which cries out beyond the mere recording and throughout the sole soul of the artist -- and artist he is -- striving to arrive at resolution of his mixed motivations that, as I was saying at the first, probably, then, should be kept on hold while he runs out and makes a committment of himself to his blooming talents and skills before getting waylaid, so to speak, by the way ... on which he is wending.
Just yesterday I was in love when I suddenly, unexpectedly, at a glance, fell into Love from which I have never relented; but I ... I may not be now or may not then have been so talented as is this artist dangling amidst the struggle while rolling in the first fruits of love.
posted by Duct Tape at 10:57 AM
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