I am always grateful for the amazing people in my life. Often enough, though, I feel I don't do them justice. I mean, it's just me being me most of the time, so what's there to be got from being my friend?
I suppose a self-definition of this ilk is an example of woeful self-deprecation - not necessarily a good thing, despite standard religious education. In fact, I have often realised it is a smoke screen to myself, as many others I use, mostly unaware.
But, why would I make use of such a tool?
To help ask myself, of course! Or, if not of course, at least it is what I have come to think, considering the amount of questions the strategy has brought up just by making its presence known.
Ask myself. Yeah, that sounds deep and important enough. Still... does it matter? Does it matter if I discover some dark reason hidden in the darkness of my forgotten memories? Would my life change dramatically by shedding light on the very instant I first recognised my jealousy, or saw a member of my family as an enemy in contention for my parent's love?
I know I might incur some people's wrath by saying (right, typing) this, but Freud was not the saviour of the human psyche. No, he was the father of its demise from negligence and alienation. Our psyche has been divested of the romantic myth and thus it withers. We have believed the envious sisters rather than our own lover's warmth. How sad to accept that we lost Eros out of fear of the unknown; empiricism is the bitter refuge of modern humans.
If my friends' love for me is a mystery, then that's all right. I will thrill in its surprise and wonder, blessed, grateful. After all, am in in the secret.
Love is.
Love IS.
Love = is
And that's that.
No comments:
Post a Comment