by Twisted Minstrel » Wed May 17, 2006 11:38 pm
I pondered this very question in a short 'essay' a few years ago - here it is:
I think love has always been here. It isn't the sentimental stuff written about in songs and poems and stories and movies, acted out by people who are living movies in their heads all the time, who can't seem to relate to anything unless it's been spelled out for them, a fantasy willingly shared. Love is chemical, biological, part of our genetic makeup, the innermost cell of the innermost cell, the eye of the nuculei, the mote within, the speck, the finest point that threads its way, dream-like, through our synapses, veins, arteries, the very fluid of life and back again, over and over. Hereditary, a disease that lies dormant in some, or grows with us into maturity, shaping our character, invisible thread of Damocles suspended through each of us. Through all living things.
The ability to mature is linked directly with it - if love is withheld or distorted early on, held up by emotional barricades, it will find it's way through, undetected, usually, much later. We will have vaccinated ourselves against it, in fear, but in time, it mutates, breaking through our viral barrier. It's never what you expect. It is graceless and without wit; love has no grandeur about it, no artsy craftiness - only the bride stripped bare of her romance - this is science, arcane, elliptical, God's mathematics.
Euclidean, Archemedian - Fermat's devil in the details, the smallest, sparest repetition, expanding, moving in ever -widening circles, fanning out like a shockwave, a sonic boom through the sub-spiritual system. This is minor chemistry - what grows a crystal, the structure of a nylon, the sticky stuff that holds us all together, splitting the atom of desire, to the subparticle of need, into the dense innersphere of awareness itself.
If I look at you, I look at me, I look at God; if I hear you, I hear me too, and all our words are the same combinations of words, puzzle fractures and tongue twisting mind benders. I'd rather be alone, sometimes, and just listen to things than have to relate to them. Why do we live as we do? How much further could we evolve? Back to the sea, to the gills, scales, heads and tails of us, back to the ocean. We'll be schools again, diverse, forward-motion thinkers.
And somewhere in everything, is this alchemy, your lips, your hands, your eyes, your hair, every inch of you, improbable and illogical and the only things I know: I've taken years to know you, study you, inside and out and I still don't understand. You've grown on me, part of my everyday waking moving, walking, talking, eating, sleeping, dreaming, happy, sad, strangeness, wondering, wishing - all you, somehow. This was expected, nothing was an accident. The whole world came and went so we could be here, now. I don't think that's just a coincidence. This is a great science, a great invention - not a microcosm, but one tiny universe after another, collapsing, being born, joining and singing. Quantum. Inevitable. You. Me. This.