It was raining as I came out of my office around eight tonight. A long day that included equally long walk, difficult work decisions, and that familiar feeling of missing part of me that persists throughout my life, was finally over. A more difficult chapter was in front of me, and the hour-long walk to my home helped put things in an order. Ironically, only a few hours earlier today, while giving a speech, I referred to order and the need to break free of it to prove the romantic, homo ludens side of us. I was talking about creativity and education, all these things familiar, yet today a more philosophical dimension was given to a rather puzzled and definitely unprepared audience.
A few minutes before switching off my computer, and while responding to an email that had come to my blog address, I read a question: when does love end? It seems that the person who asked me the question believes that somewhere inside me wisdom controls my emotions and thoughts. When someone comes to you with such questions, an apophthegmatic line such as ‘Love includes the Truth’ or ‘Love is a certainty that comes once in a lifetime’ is always the easy and respectable way out.
But in this case I cannot be evasive. The person asking is for me the only continuation of my life, my thought, my aesthetics that I know of. I saw him ten days ago and I never had the chance to tell him how proud I am of him. I saw a different person, he had changed so much, more focused, determined to follow the one dream that is going to make him really happy, free from a borrowed lifestyle that had chained him to mediocrity and vanity, free. We were together for a good four hours and as I left I remember thinking that I would perhaps never see him again, that once more he had chosen this relationship to remain mediated. I remember the feeling that he once more was not honest with me and had not told me the truth. I always know when he lies. But I don’t care. My love for him is unconditional. I don’t care about his choices, I don’t even care if he hurts me, and believe me I am not a masochist, but those of you who have felt this unconditional love know very well the meaning of the statement: “I don’t care”. The only thing I worry about is his wellbeing and his purpose that must be fulfilled. And when he was distracted this summer with ephemeral emotions and self-destructive behaviors, I wanted to ‘hunt him down’ and teach him a lesson. I was so upset to watch cheap expressions of love in a format that I thought was reserved for us, and addressed to a most aloof person -an easy judgment of the photos I had seen-. The shock for me was multifaceted, but he was still the One for me. He lost his head, and I knew it when I saw him in the beginning of summer on a most difficult day for me. I was a distraction then. Perhaps I am still a distraction, and believe me I want to be. But I want him to know that, in reality, I am the last person to tell him what I believe is good for him. I trust him.
I always believed love would show up later in life, and would mirror my soul, heart and mind. I had read the biographies of all those men and women I admire and they all seemed to have found their true love after they had travelled deep into their dreams and after they had tortured their souls. So, I embarked on the journey of solitude with the interruptions needed to exercise the pain I thought was necessary in order for me to reach the point of happiness that comes from the knowledge that I have found the One. And everything worked according to plan. Every time a relationship completed a circle, I escaped. I was confident that all would work out for me and in the end love, real love, would appear.
And it did. And it was so big that I accepted all conditions. But this love, although it was considered a torture by those who witnessed it, became for me the catalyst to the true meaning of life. All the things that I had read in the literature of great personalities and had seen in the art of great creators, made sense. Life had a definite meaning and I knew that I would not be lost. I even decided on the tattoo that would read “…and found” so that when we would meet again we would “see” and identify one another. And this love was so big that did not need carnal verification. It remained an Idea and my source of inspiration. This love became the one I wanted to witness my existence, and I even started contemplating the idea that came from our inspirational book, of keeping a shared -yet secret- diary where all unrevealed truths would be recorded and would be left to be read by the last to live. I chose him to be the sole witness to my most individual thoughts; because I trust him. I trust he will accept me as I am, and will present me as I am. I trust he intuitively understands me more than anyone. He understands that for people like us love ends when we end and in the meantime it just incarnates in the bodies of unsuspected lovers. He understands that for people like us the idea of love is vital as it provides our breath (inspiration). He understands that for people like us true love is clearly identified by the mental stimulation it offers. He understands that for people like us true love is the source of continuous wonder and the only means of seeing our existence and its meaning clearly. He understands that for people like us questions that lessen the Idea of love are only posed by those who want to bring it down to their own scale. But for those of us who grew up with the inspiration of this part of the world, love is an Idea that transcends conformism, and as such, revealing only the Great in us.