Wednesday, September 8, 2010


Not since Burning Man was referenced on Phineas and Ferb has any discovery earthquaked me like what I saw (in my mind's eye) today.

First off, I was awakened today by a most glorious thunderstorm, perhaps a precursor to the remainder of my morning. Once I got past the sad possibility that Little Man's baseball game might get cancelled, I coffeed and smoked my way to a much happier spot.

Now, many of my three or four readers may realize that I don't necessarily view the world in any light resembling normal, but that does not in any way invalidate my viewpoint. I do that all by myself, yet despite the fact that I swim frequently in the cesspool of my conflicting thoughts and emotions, I still am often overwhelmed by my desire to share my thoughts.

(Aside: Curious to know if a person can just be 'whelmed'. I know you can be overwhelmed, and even underwhelmed, but somebody please answer this question for me. What would simply being whelmed look like?)

Back to my babbling now. As you may remember, the nun has always preached that 'love just is', and I am also an adherent of that particular philosophy, but today I would like to take it a bit further. It is my contention of the day that 'love always is'.

Yes, dear reader, I believe that you currently love however many exes you may have. Whether they cheated on you, abused you, walked out on you, or simply faded away...betrayed your trust, lied to you, gave you herpes or any other venereal disease...or whether they simply changed...or you simply seems to me that love is indestructible no matter how hard we may try to interrupt its breath.

And while I am sitting here, alternately embracing it with trying to paint a revisionist tale of what it could or could not have been, I am coming to see that our biggest mistake as humans is that we choose to believe that we can make love fit into whatever guise we choose...when really, we fit into it. We paint pictures of how it once looked...of how we once saw it...and, no matter which new colored contacts we choose to view through, the undeniable fact is that love did wrap us, and we engaged, and we cannot change that. And whether or not we choose to go back and rewrap the gift...wrap it in the grey of naivete...or the pink of innocence...or the brown of stupid...or the swirling spectral rainbow of bad timing, we insist on filing it away in the black paper of regret. We seem incapable of realizing that its original offering was delivered wrapped in the perfect, blank white of want, need, desire, passion, and yes, lust. It arrived wrapped in that perfect white, reflecting all the colors of possibility, yet it is only our insistence on staining it with only the colors we choose that taints it; that leads us toward the inevitable, undesired path of invisible absorption.

Have I gotten it right yet? Not a chance, but I am learning, slowly but surely, that love doesn't break my heart...I do...and I, for one, will continue to reject the notion that my heart is broken at all. It must be so because it continues to all the rhythms it is destined to dance in...ever.......

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