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It's a fine line between living for the moment and being a sociopath.

Patricia B McConnell: For The Love Of A Dog.

Pema Chodron: The Places That Scare You

Daniel Wallace: Mr Sebastian & the Negro Magician



All paths lead to the same goal: to convey to others what we are. --Pablo Neruda

Tuesday, September 12, 2006

Good night, sweet Angel, wherever you are

It is a beautiful, beautiful night in Paris. The air is that perfect warm temperature that is barely un-hot enough to cause nostalgia for the summer just slipped past.

The sky is clear and full of stars. The street noise is quiet with a reverence of couples walking in the not-quite-yet-autumn, short-sleeved moonlight.

Only one thing keeps tonight from complete superlative; only one thing prevents it from being some zenith of loveliness.

Flame-Haired Angel is thousands of kilometers away. And will be for weeks and weeks.

Before she left, we talked about her dreams, and the sacrifices required to build them sweatily into life instead of coddling them as fantasies. The challenge of doing things never done before. Of confronting fears. Of gritting teeth in the face of demons, even if they are only the demons she keeps as pets, uniquely her own.

And of being apart.

For us, who found our love a little later than so many of our friends, time apart is a special torture. Some say it’s just that we’re still newlyweds. But after four and a half years, without the least slippage in the pain of parting, I don’t think that’s it. Rather, I reckon it has something to do with how much of our lives, up to now, we spent wondering if we would ever find a true mate, an amplifier of every joyful note life offers, and the ultimate consolation in the face of any barb fate throws.

Having found her, watching her recede is painful.

But, as I kept reminding her in the days up to her flight, pain is not desolation. It is not despair. This pain is not tragic in the least.

It is a blessing. It is the blessing of being momentarily denied life’s greatest pleasure. The gravity of the loss is felt only because it is known. To know this thing is to know that what I’d always hoped for is even greater than I’d imagined. Missing her like this is the revelation of all living, if love be at living’s foundation. How could such knowledge be pain? I can feel remorse at choosing to be further from her than absolutely necessary, of course. But it is, in the scheme of all that we’ve won for the rest of our lives, only for a little while.

And, moreover, it is only distance. After all, the joy, the happiness, the amplifier of life does not leave with her body. It lives and breathes and beats incorporeally. Only the sanctified routine of sharing those things in daily proximity -- in whispers, on walks, over dinner, with lovemaking -- is put on hold.

All else remains constant.





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Comments on "Good night, sweet Angel, wherever you are"

 

Blogger ShakespeareUK said ... (12:31 AM) : 

*sigh*

*gazes into distance*

*wipes tear*

*empathises*

*melts*

but still Mills 'n' Boon (eg Harlequin Romance), ya know.

 

Blogger Houston said ... (1:02 AM) : 

Mills and freakin' Boon?

You *bitch*!

It's a good thing you're even sappier in love than I am!

 

Blogger The Skiver said ... (12:17 AM) : 

It's a horrible dichotomy. You love someone, but you want them to have room to spread their wings and to be the person that they want to be. That means that being together and allowing him or her to be themselves become almost mutually exclusive.

I can well envisage a situation where the girl I love and I spend a good amount of time apart in futherance of her career. I am going to hate every second of it, just as I hate every seconf I am parted from her now, but I'll gladly do it if it helps her to be who she wants to be.

And there is the other awful truth. If you truly love someone, you'll set them free. And then you spend the whole day with a Sting song running through your head.

 

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