Archives for posts with tag: loving

‘If we are going to love others at all, we must make up our minds to love them well.’  

~ Thomas Merton


‘This show is a roller coaster of emotions – there’s comedy, anticipation, tears of joy… and no-one can take an audience on a better ride than that.’   ~Andrea Wong

Sometimes I cry when I’m overwhelmingly happy.

This can be disconcerting to observers, especially when they are more than observers and are actual participants in my happiness.  This might be most disconcerting to unsuspecting lovers.

Sex can sometimes make me very happy.  Happy to the point of overflowing tears.

There is a moment – you know the one, when I no longer need air, when I am wrapped in the splendor of split light, when whatever I once was has dissolved into the stardust of the universe – when all that remains is a suffusion of joy and love…

And tears.

I have known this state of moist emotion at the vast love that I have for another, at the expansion that happens when all the seeds of creation are waiting to germinate and bloom in the warmth of the love radiating from within me.

I have known this state of damp sensation at the immense love that another has offered me, at the sanctuary that exists when they have draped my body, mind and soul with the verdant branches of loving me so well.

I have known this flowing phenomenon at the great sadness that follows the pressing recognition that both stimuli are not present, together.

Why does it seem as if the balance of loving and being loved is just too delicate to achieve?

Why would I experience such ardorous depths for one who will never comprehend them?  Who will never value them or me or us in the same way?

Why would the profound tenderness and delight I have for another not match the passion proffered?   The adoration so worthy of being returned?

‘ The question is not whether we will die, but how we will live.’   ~Joan Borysenko

Six months ago, my partner was told his cancer had metastasized and his liver was beginning to fail.  That prognosis came with less than a year to live.  That was a month before he was told it was attacking his heart.   Spindle cell carcinoma.

The doctors wanted him to come in to tell him that.  To explain what it meant.  To offer gentleness and support in the telling.  – He chose hear it over the phone.  He never went in to understand.  I’m pretty sure he doesn’t remember the term.

He doesn’t talk about his illness at all.  It is both his strategy for avoiding death and for being able to live life.

I have tried to respect that, to honor his belief that it is this attitude of defiance that has allowed him to live in a normally healthy state for longer than his initial prognosis.  After all, my desire is to know him and enjoy him and love him for as long as I can.

But what I am finding is that I am unable to do this in the way that I would wish.  My partner’s response to his illness is asking me to do two very contradictory things.

In asking me to remain with him, he is asking me to agree to watch him die.  To experience his dying and the grief and emptiness that will follow.  I can agree to this.  I do not fear death.  But it means strengthening my spirit, readying my heart, preparing for my own care and continuity.

In asking me to ignore his prognosis, he is asking me to agree to act for a future together.  To plan and build hopes and dreams and foster dependencies.  – And while I have thus far agreed to this in words, I am less and less able to agree to it in spirit and mind.  I fear it means even greater loss and grief and disillusionment.

And so I am finding myself reserved and unable to engage in our everyday interactions in the wholehearted way in which I would wish.

Can a mind perform two oppositional functions at one time?  If I am on a balance-wire is there any way to reach both ends?

Is there a way to honor both of our needs if they are conflicting?  If not, how do I determine whose needs are more important?

Is it even fair to worry about my needs in the face of those of the dying?

‘Real friendship or love is not manufactured or achieved by an act of will or intention.  Friendship is always an act of recognition.  (…)  There is an awakening between you, a sense of ancient knowing.’   ~John O’Donohue

My anam cara… my soul friend… is falling away from me.  He chooses it.

My ex.  The best proof I have of ethereal connection.

Seven years.  Seven difficult years, full of sadness and heartache and the discovery of deep, eternal love.

We can’t be together.  Our relationship had, quite possibly, more endings than it ever had true beginnings.

 ‘The End’ (2 years ago) revealed itself as an incredible teacher.  I learned more about myself, my fears, my wants, my defenses… in the reflective epoch following, than I had the entire time we were together. –  It works that way, doesn’t it?

And I learned that the greatest value in the relationship was not in a desired future together nor in memories past, but in our ability to always return to our friendship.  In the knowledge that this person who, having seen me at my absolute worst and therefore, perhaps, knowing me the best, would always be present for me and I for him.  That he was an anam cara, a soul friend.

Today, though, I find myself questioning the ability to maintain an intimate friendship.  Is it possible to support and care for and protect one another and our friendship as we each move deeper into other intimacies?

Why are we taught that emotional and intellectual and spiritual intimacy belong only in conjunction with romantic/sexual intimacy?  That outside of that, it can actually threaten romantic intimacy?

Is it possible for me to keep this relationship, this friend of my heart and soul?  Or do even ethereal connections eventually dissolve when subjected to physical laws?