They say, ‘Survival of the fittest is won by those whose will is never dominated.’ Can such a being ever give into their desire, or must reason rule supreme. Can logic master that of emotion and if it could, would one want such a fate?
What a cursed creature I am, born like all with a natural need, a need that was never asked for but is a fundamental part of my very essence. Though I now look upon the object of my desire with fear, love and contempt. For I didn’t choose to love nor did I wish for this curse. Yet its temptation stirs every cell in my body, an unwished for need that forced itself on me. Others don’t look for the source of their love, but I foolishly did. I couldn’t just embrace the joy; I had to know and what I find was polluted, a product of so-called “Equal Benefit!â€
Natures many mysteries have lead me on so many trails with dead ends all in hope of finding truth. Paths that should have been left untravelled were explored and dark valleys traversed, but only to the cost of my own detriment.
No matter how much I long to turn my back on nature, its impossible. All dream to become great then one’s nature will allow… But how can we? Can I appose what made me, that Double-Helix’ed creator, the source from which I sprung? What power in heaven or upon earth could make me what I wish to be, or am I for my allotted time forever afflicted by this interlocking brand? The irony is I’m just a helix destined to be useless without my pair. Nature sees fit to make me unwhole and imprints on me a longing to find that which will be my other half in a fool’s errand called love. Love… something that drives us forward in strange futile directions, unpredictable muse that searches for itself in another. What hatred fills my soul knowing that I must circum to you! How my reasoning desperately seeks to eject you from my form, to be released from your malevolent manipulating strings and no longer be your marionette dancing your marry dance. To be finally free from your piercing grip, released to live whole amongst those other content creatures, on my own, in my own fortress of solitude which neither love nor nature cannot penetrate, a consciousness unlimited for at last the bonds that gave me birth are broken and I exists without need of a natural body, my base instinct conquered! Unconfined and able to become whatever my intellect can make of me.
The below poem was just mentioned on Writer’s Almanac on NPR this week. Your post reminded me of it again. Let love only exist in your imagination…it is possible…and like it is stated in the poem–so much better. Do not succomb to this reality’s loves. This reality is made only for the improvement of our intellect not love–for it belongs in and only in a higher realm.
The Wildest Word by June Robertson Beisch
The Benedictines had it, they knew
the joys of silence, the illuminating of
manuscripts, the careful diffusion of
esoteria.
The pleasures of abstinence.
Get to a point where you can deny yourself anything
and then you are halfway there, some say.
And poems are made
of love not made.
Emily Dickinson refused
the offered touch and reveled in her own
self abnegation. “The wildest word
consigned to man is No,” she wrote.
“You love me best when I refuse.”
"Imagined love is better than the real,
and occupies the highest branch of Eden's tree,"
wrote Edna St. Vincent Millay.
Have you read Notes From the Underground by Dostoevsky? The protagonist rejects love in pursuit of freedom. But is he free? Is he not subject to his desire, to his love, freedom? Amazing how the irony unfolds.
Your right, love, is something beyond our control – we do not choose it, it chooses us. But what rapture it is to care for another frightened, beautiful, child within – a child subjected to, and surrounded by, the darkness of the world. Love, perhaps, is the light that burns amid the darkness – why not light up the world for another?
@pxc
Thanks, Love really is a Much Ado About Nothing.
@Kristalyn
That’s a nice poem by June Robertson. I agree that sometimes the best part of love is the longing and the fantasies one indulges in, that’s where my poem & pros come from mostly. The only problem is too much longing can turn into unrequited love, some believe that this is where the truly beauty poetry is born. Love with no other form of expression must make do with words.
Have you ever seen the movie ‘Quills’? It’s all about The Marquis de Sade who’s in care at a mental institution. One of the things it portrays is his need to write and express himself. It also shows in his case, what can happen if people are not given the means to express their creativity. It’s a dark movie in places but over all enjoyable.
@The Underground Man
No, but I’m going to look that up, sounds very interesting, as Dostoevsky is a genius.
Love, perhaps, is the light that burns amid the darkness – why not light up the world for another?
It comes down to control… I think??? I’ve still not decided if I like the idea of giving myself up to the point of the whole two becoming one thing. I’d loss a lot of my freedoms as I’d be obliged to fulfil a certain amount of obligations. Of course the way I’ve worded that is how one not in love see those tasks, a dutiful lover calls them his greatest joys in making the object of his desire happy. So far it looks like Love have only bitten me hard enough to crack the skin, without penetrating any deeper. (There’s my task for the day complete, use the words: Love, Penetrate and Deeper without it sounding like something out of a hardcore flick)