lost, wander, love.
19 April 2012 § 3 Comments
We learn best of great love in moments of madness and weakness. It happens upon us when we least expect; while en route to the next chapter of a journey, one in which we have been charged with a purpose – whether it is to lust for wonder or to wander, lost.
Rarely does one find love by searching for it. There are no clues laying about to lead you left or right at a traffic light, nor is there a magic 8-ball to say whether it is wrong to get on a plane headed for some distant land. These answers come from within, from depths that we are not daily familiar with. When they speak up, be their sound of butterflies or hurricanes, it is our choice to listen, or to not. It is our option to acknowledge with our logical minds what our spirits know already – love is their reaching out to another they recognize, or would like to engage for a while.
Sometimes, our logical minds look at another person and say “she is beautiful” or “he is confident and strong,” but spirits are not so easily fooled as their bodies. Even the person who is not so in touch with what goes on inside them knows whether there is a connection. Sometimes, if there is not, we will pursue it regardless, because we fancy the form, or feel that we may not find, or do not deserve, a better match.
So much of what people think is love is not. It is often quite the opposite. Love is not convenience. It is not complimentary language, or even great sex. Love does not manifest, or necessarily last, solely because “he is the father of my children,” or because a couple has history together.
Yet we can learn to love, and to choose to. It is an arduous dig inward, one we must undertake on our own, but that we cannot take without someone to see us through it. But again, not every excavation is love. We can dig and dig and uncover things about ourselves which we did not know before, and when we find them it is not always an easy process to accept them, or let them go, let alone to give them to another.
We must chip at the walls we’ve built from brick and mortar to protect ourselves from all that is not love. One needn’t look far to find castles or great walls to protect kingdoms and fortunes. We protect what we value. If our walls are immense, it is because the attacks have been often, or fierce – or both. We build them for survival. Once a war has finished, a ruler does not order his castle walls to be dismantled. They should remain standing, for protection against future enemies. Against the unforeseen.
That which we cannot see, which resides before us – lo que no podemos ver a frente de nosotros – the Unknown, is as scary as it is beautiful. It can take the form of a vital philosopher from whom we learn our next lesson, an enemy from whom we learn strategy, or love, for which we must break down walls to accept. This is difficult because all of them are at once threats to how we operate, how we think, and to what we think is right.
School throughout childhood forms our basis of ideas and truths; further education is for those open to the possibility that all what we’ve learned before is nonsense, and should teach us first how to discard what is false, and then how to recognize truth for us, before attempting to teach us what is true for them. For how else can we hope to know love when it comes rambling down our path? Otherwise we might run off the road and hide in the bushes, to watch the lovely maiden skipping by, basket in hand and full of what she had to offer us. Her transparency attracts us, the cloth over the basket her mystery, tempting us to ask “What of you is in there?”
Once we reach within ourselves and learn what are threats we must avoid, and what threats we should embrace – that is, dangers to our sense of self and to belief systems long-held but perhaps not long-interrogated – and trust those instincts without hesitation, we too can be transparent.
Give bricks away to those who ask for them. Give them to strangers, and let them see through the hole where stone once was. Being seen is more liberating than watching. Step up to the microphone and shed your skin. Be vulnerable. Offer your truth as best you know it, and if it’s time, let it melt and change form. Melt it down yourself on rainy days inside. With what remains, we can detach ourselves from the pasts that bind us, those we wrap our arms around in protest of letting go, because without what we were, what are we now?
We are the unknown – philosophers, the enemies of our walls, the mystery skipping down someone’s path.
Give up nothing; instead, let it go.