I’m thinking about the things that matter, and the way they matter too much, equally devastating to engage in as to lose. Is there a way to participate in them that is less painful? Or are they best left to the past?
I’m not so hearty or elastic as I was. I can only engage in reality sparingly. (Is this true?)
Yesterday, in the park, on a hill that overlooks a favorite tree, I was thinking about love. This tree has boughs that bend in beautiful shapes. It’s too tall to measure. Doe and I were sitting on the hillside, and suddenly, I felt it, something akin to love. No, it was love. Love without an object, unless you count the tree. But the tree was only part of what I felt. I thought about Richard S.’s theory that the pain of loneliness is a desire to be a part of every living thing. What I felt was the opposite of loneliness. It was a pressure high in my chest often described as a lifting heart, a feeling that I have squandered mostly on unsatisfying relationships, people and music. But in that moment, the potential for love to be something more seemed clear.
I’ve expressed my love through music, through singing and writing songs.
I’ve felt it purely and sweetly for a man, but always that purity is fleeting.
Is my current refusal, to do what I have done in the past, a retreating? Is it giving up? Or is it a determination not to give in?
If I hold out for something better, will I find it? Or will I wither and die waiting?