First, i have to warn you that i'm a little out of sync, since i got bumped today from my flight to Hong Kong, and after spending 5 hours at the airport (which i live 20 minutes from) i'm back home again till tomrrow, my luggage still there, with tickets to take an identical route. so i feel a bit like i'm in the Chronicles of Riddick, with my life going on without me, and i have to catch it, and jump back in, and the images will gel together again, and i'll switch from black and white back to color.
Anyway.... let's talk about love.
I mean why not? Love and death, right?
"The only two things that could interest an intelligent mind," according to Yeates.
The two things from which everyone might run, but no one can hide. I know, it sounds a bit like poetry. In fact, it *is* poetry. Which i happen to hate. So its hateful poetry. Written to sound bad, on *purpose*.
Another story. On to death.
I'm reading Julian Barnes' new book "Nothing to Be Frightened Of", which is, as you might surmise from the title, about the end (and yes, i split that infinitive on purpose). And if you have a chance, you probably should read it. i've spent thousands and thousands of dollars on therapy over the years. I've been suicidal since i was eight years old. and finally, i found someone who thinks about death with as much humor and horror (more existential than Gothic) as i do, and certainly whom has more literary depth to bring it to life, pun very much intended. really. the book is, in some ways, beginning to finally edge out my *own* fear of death. well, not edge out; more make bearable. that's his point.
you never get over the fear of death.
in fact, he points out that those (of us) whom have finally managed to "look over the edge" and realize, with as full a sense of awareness as is possible (since we cannot really imagine it), that we will NOT exist at some point, probably much sooner than we expected, certainly than we hoped, are of a group. even if you've only done it once. Because if you have done it, it changes you. Forever. You now occupy a mental space that others do not.
in fact, it's sort of a club. for me (and for him, since the major thread of the book is dealing with his) the loss of one's parents is also this type of 'group'. if you have, you understand. if you have not (yet) then you can't possibly understand. sorry.
it's like being gay. you can even fuck a few boys (or girls, but i'm a boy) but unless you're gay, there's some things you just won't get. i'm not gay, so i know that i don't know (nod to Donald Rummsfeld here). and i haven't lost my parents, yet, but they're getting there, my mother is becoming senile and my father is getting his last lupron shot from his prostate cancer treatment.
what is somewhat sobering, however, is realizing that those who see death coming, who feel its presence, are a different crowd than those who are focused on, say, their golf game (which i think is a fine distraction, since i play). but it is only a distraction. not a cure.
I already talked about denial in the intro, so i won't go there again, but even those of us who are Dedicated Self-Medicators (alcohol, in my case) can only deny it for so long. like i said, mine started at age 8. lots don't until their 40's. if you've hit your 60's and you're still not paying attention, then you are either crazy or brilliant, or drinking a *lot*.
So now i have to close, and i haven't even gotten to love, (or death, really). except to say that whatever literary wisdom i picked up from Barnes' book has been amazing. i mean, life changing. and i have read Fromme, and Rogers, and Freud, and Jung, and Maslow, Skinner, and on and on, so i'm not a beginner, and, like i said, i spent many years paying 120 bucks an hour to talk this through, with far less outcome.
Read the book yourself, and see if you don't agree.
Love. Have to get that. whew. what a mess, than one. talk about lying
to ourselves. NOT about love. just about what we do to protect ourselves
from it.
jdf
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