On the Other Side of Love
Tears fall like rivers of rain . . .
In the solemn silence of a quiet darkness, I lie awake and listen to the sound of nothing. I am only slightly aware of the rise and fall of my chest as each breath passes through me. The evening air rushes through my open window to dance with gauzy curtains, ignoring me as I lie still as death. I am caught between this insidious world and the heaven that looms above. To navigate between the two seems impossible. I can move neither this way, nor that.
My stillness turns to shivering. Something beyond myself is in control. And for the moment, I let it be. I want to close my eyes and pretend that I am on a winding, gentle river which is carrying me to a place of its own choosing. I care not about the destination. I want to be as close to non-being as I can. If I am not, then pain is not.
I was once beguiled by a shiny love, a treacherous lover, though I knew him not to be so at the time. It is dangerous to be so desirous as to be led by the object of our wanting without clarity or consciousness. And in the midst of that process, we are unaware of its heavy, heavy cost.
What price is too high for the pursuit of love? It is wise to consider the object of our love. Are we on the same path, or, are we not? The profoundness of the answer lies in the simplicity of the question. To over-contemplate is to deliver a lethal blow to the heart itself. You cannot create desire in another. A thousand millennia would not be enough to do that work. My endless love cannot create love in another for me. And it shall always be so.
I have brought myself to my own weariness. I have seen the line which is carved upon my soul by my relentless tears. It marks my limit and chants to me, “this far and no further”. In this solitude and aloneness, I am amazed that I am still alive. This pain did not actually kill me. I lie still. Just breathe. I have survived to consider, to wonder . . . what is on the other side of love?