I want nothing to do with the manifestations of love which I often see. I have not been able to relate to the circus, and all of those hoop jumpers and tight rope walkers under the tent, in their own world, unaware of the currents swirling about on the outside which at any moment can come crash their party. At that moment, when their heart is broken, that is when they become most pathetic. They behave like pendulums. When in love, that is all they care to know. They have no time for those who condemn romance, they have no time for those who find expression in loneliness, they have no time for those who tread slowly and do all they can to resist the whimsical temptations to fall into love with any beautiful rose who decides to bloom before them (as if their season is the only one which caused the bloom, unwilling to recognize that it blooms for every season!). When they are in love, the prance about with silly smiles, boasting their infatuation as the real thing, daring all of us to let go of our reservations and leap into the arms of another and then we can also join them in their real life sonnets. Although, what happens when their love ends? Then, those same soaring birds come crashing down and wallow in their hurt, denouncing love and claiming to never fall in love again. They claim to be “independent!” and that from this point on, they will focus on their job, or their art, or God. YES! They fall BACK on God after their infatuation becomes boring and the excitement fades, and their bodies and humor become boring. They want nothing to do with love, they prefer to hear no mention of those who have found love, the wish to listen to sad songs and become empowered. They abandon their hearts and wish to think only with their minds, they abuse the idea love by becoming only interested in selfish self exploitation in the spirit of their new found “independence”, thinking that asserting themselves sexually equals freedom. Yes, it’s maddening.
“I do not get excited at the prospect of true love, I become overwhelmingly pensive. I realize that something such as love means to devote yourself to someone else, and in that act, become vulnerable to the point of appearing weak willed. How often have we heard our friends trying to “talk sense” into us, selling the idea of being better off without someone who takes advantage of us. The person in love is blind to abuse, because being in love isn’t based on a pre-requisite which demands respect. Being in love is an external expression, an emotion that flows outward with such ferocity that no human idea of equality and respect comes into his or her periphery. The outward flow does not depend on reciprocity, that is the torturous characteristic of love. How is one supposed to control their own love for someone else? If ones love passes away when the possibility of fulfillment is extinguished, it is certain that it was never love in the first place. ” (the hypothetical, the unreality, not of this world)
“Blessed is the lover; he hopes all things. Even at the last moment does he still hope for the possibility of the good for the most degenerate? This he has learned from the eternal; but only because he was a lover could he learn from the eternal;…”
“No, the true lover understands only one thing: to be fooled, to be deceived, to give everything away without the slightest return…”
“Love seeks not its own; for in love there is no mine and yours. But mine and yours are only relational qualifications of “one’s own”; consequently, if there is no “mine”, or “yours,” there is no one “one’s-own,” either; but if there is no “one’s own,” it is indeed impossible to seek “one’s-own.”
“What the world most highly and unanimously honors is cleverness or acting cleverly. But to act cleverly is precisely the most contemptuous of all. If a man is clever, in a certain sense he cannot help it; nor should he be ashamed of developing his cleverness–but should be all the more ashamed of acting cleverly.”
Some respect love so much as not even touch it, they can adore it from a distance. Some treat love as if it were a theme park, venturing into it with unbridled excitement with the understanding that they can leave the roller coaster at will. I prefer to take on the task with a sober approach, never mistaking anything for that which is the most difficult to sustain, love itself. Being that love is perfection, it is no wonder that we constantly fail, or try in vain to make it less than it is. With one’s beloved, (s)he exists with such a quiet and looming clarity. (S)he doesn’t prop up your ideas nor tear down your ambitions, (s)he doesn’t compete with you, but constantly conquer you, and every time that happens, you rejoice.
“What delusion needs most always is what it thinks of least, since otherwise it would not be a delusion”