“Talking about love is like dancing about architecture.”*


(I started the rumination below about Love some time ago but couldn’t get traction. Then I got a new batch of mushrooms and……(KIDDING!!!))

————————————–

What on earth do I know of love?  What I don’t know has filled journals spanning decades.  Until I stopped because I realized one of many truths: writing about it brought me no closer to it.  Reading about it was marginally more useful, if only to discover all the other blind describing their piece of the elephant.

But yesterday, a voice said, “Write about love“ and I have learned to listen to that voice; when I don’t, I usually end up being very, very sorry.

So…….

“Talking about love is like dancing about architecture.” — Elvis Costello

What is love?

a)  Baby, don’t hurt me. b)  A battlefield.  c)  Like a rock.  d)  All you need.

Before you answer, consider this:  At first blush, English seems like a fairly stupid language.  We have one word for the condition that governs our hearts, sways our days, forges our bonds, breaks us open, makes us stronger.  One tiny four-letter word.  But that is because this one word is like J.R. Tolkien’s  The One Ring: it rules the rest by the complexity in its simplicity.  It is inevitable, impossible, invincible…. and indescribable.  Which is why I will try.

One must be very careful when one chooses to write about love.  In general, whatever you focus on tends to increase. And, like any force in the universe, love, when invited in, especially after a long wait on the porch, tends to put its feet up on your furniture, eat all your snacks, make itself comfortable, stay a while.  Love lights you up like radium, widens your field of vision, tears you apart, again.  Dangerous, heady stuff.  Not to be denied.

And from that realization, it can grow like Jack’s beanstalk: overnight.  You learn a lot.  You soften around the edges.  Food tastes better, and you begin thinking again about healthier foods because you want to be alive longer.  The sun feels deliciously warm on your skin, now sun-blocked.  Colors begin to sneak into your all-black wardrobe, like my blue-cuffed Guido shirt.  And my other Guido shirt. (!)  You become lighter than air, hotter than fire, more solid than earth, clearer than water, faster than light.  Or at least you so imagine.

You must.  Be very.  Careful.  And.  Very.  Brave.

You start to see everyone in your life — and I do mean everyone — in a new light.  Some old hurts may heal.  You find myself feeling softer, more compassionate, in general, and more loving toward certain people and situations in particular.

More importantly, you also begin being more gentle, compassionate and forgiving with yourself, giving yourself the freedom to let more peek from underneath the protective covering you know so well.  You could argue, in fact, that all love starts — though, obviously, should not stop — with self-love.  For if you do not love yourself, how can you love someone else?  If you do not know your own heart, how can you seek to know that of another?  But when you know your heart, you must be able to pole-vault and/or crash through those barriers that silence the sharing of it, especially the old ones erected for threats no longer present.  You can not let your heart be afraid.

So.  Love is not this, OR this, OR this, OR that.  Love is this, AND this, AND this, AND that.  It is all.  It is everything.  While we are limited by our own perspectives and desires, and, thus, do not see the bright and magnificent whole, we are all connected in a grand design.  And we grope and grasp to find that piece that, connected to ours, helps form a larger piece of that design.

And then one day you hear a voice; perhaps it is singing, or laughing, or maybe it just calls a name, a name that’s yours.  Or it’s been calling you all along but you let it be drowned out.  Pay attention, because you didn’t think a voice would call you again. Because you didn’t know you were meant to answer to it until that very moment.   Because it didn’t sound the way you thought it would sound.  But, finally, because it is the voice meant for you, the ears of your ears awake, and the eyes of your eyes are opened.

About Drachenfutter

It's all in my blog....
This entry was posted in Love. Bookmark the permalink.

3 Responses to “Talking about love is like dancing about architecture.”*

  1. Deidra says:

    Wow, H. Positively lyrical…and true. It is amazing how that voice, or those eyes, suddenly call to you and you know. You just know. It’s the last puzzle piece suddenly dropping into place. But I won’t dilute your great imagery with my own. Thanks for this.

    • My dear, dear friend and better-poet… First, you have my permission to “dilute” away. One thing my blogs – particularly the love poetry one – have NOT managed to do is create dialogues with readers, so I am happy to have you apply your talent here! But, first, I am so glad to have confirmation that you are a fellow believer in LAFS*! Barry is one lucky guy. And you are a Saint, which he’d BETTER know and get on his knees every night and pray that you’ll still be there in the morning! I heard a wonderful interview with Michael Caine wherein he described how he met his wife of some 35 years (and going strong). He saw her in a TV ad, despaired that he couldn’t find her, was about to go overseas on a movie shoot, happened to have a drink with a guy who worked for the agency that did the ad and through him found out that Shakira lived less than a mile from where he was staying! He finagled her number, called her persistently, and finally got her to agree to have dinner with him. And when he met her in person, he knew….and the rest is history. Of course, it helps to be Michael Caine…. But LAFS (love at first sight) can happen to mere mortals, too!

  2. Lizzy says:

    ditto “Wow”…raise an “OMG!” that’s perfect!

    it’s rather to funny to think that you were able to put into words something that has perplexed man from the very beginning of time. there’s a great book out there called “The History of Beauty” by Umberto Eco that, after some review, seemed to be more about people trying to profess their love than about the actual vision of beauty. when you look at literature, the arts, lyrics…..everyone is searching for this yet it always seems just beyond themselves.
    it’s not easy to “hang yourself out there like the laundry to be tossed and fluffed by the wind, only to be seen by the neighbors just want to check out whether you wear boxers or briefs”! You were so “deadly accurate” on your description that i would swear you read my diary! i used to blog, at Tricycle, about such things and leave myself open for speculation and gossip. Of course, i never knew i was “in-love” because, well, there really wasn’t anyone there . i tried to think why i was feeling so “alive” but there was no man (this time) that caused me to feel that way. it was a sort of “self-discovery”, if you will. i found myself, my voice, my eyes, ……you really do have to love yourself before you can be receptive to love. everything becomes that much more intense, clearer, brighter, noticeable, …everything seems better- like the car ride into work on a rainy day. the music selection on the radio seems to be “hitting the mark”, i was amused by birds on a wire that i had never noticed before…
    must run at the moment but that was absolutely lovely!!

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s