Where they belong

This time around I took them with myself

They just wanted to help me look into the eyes of my grief, eyes so dazzlingly bright I’d have risked llsing my sight at theirs – yes, high is the price of beauty and I’d have gone for seeing it later on in the future. So did they and I did not want to deny them this pleasure.

(Disclaimer: I’m aware of the cloying flavour to this story – failing to convey it was so hard. In the end of the day, the cloyingness of this piece is its innermost substance)

I found out I didn’t want my freedome any longer. To be more precise: I didn’t need it. At least not that misconcept of freedom, basically comprising constant dodging the hardship reality had me facing.

This concept of freedom failed to meet the expectations I had ascribed to it, failed by far. Instead of keeping temptation at bay by shunning what might have been the uttermost temptation in my whole life – being driven mad by a sticky kind of jealousy originating from the feeling that had virtually washed away from my soul two years of willing or unwilling sinning – what I called freedom was just being kept away or keeping away from afflicted me pain and distress and stemming from it, the self-conviction that where this factor was not, temptation was not to be either. I was technically fooling myself into being falsely independent. I can get along myself. I don’t need any love to burn my heart pure.

What I ended up doing was but tearing open the gates for temptaiton to re-enter my heart, my body, my home this time unbound by the ties of life, an enticing prospect of being «entitled» to do whaterver I wished since I had already vanquished it when it was the hardest to.

And I fell. Victim to my own self-forgetfulness.

Why do I so often forget to observe pain as a gift – in the sense of a present (not venom or marriage – for my German and Swedish / Norwegian readers)? Why do we so often fail to do so?

We humans love hurting others but we don’t love being hurt.

Yes, I was granted a chance to go and stay away from the place that has grown one with the pain I caused myself and others over this story. But that was not the purpose I was granted it for. It was given to me so that I could not cause any mroe of this pain to the others, as my pain is mine solely, which fact makes it a natural requirement for me to pay due respect to it instead of burdening others with it.

So that’s what I did: I came to greet it. I came to her cradle. I came to attend a lecture about the notion of the family in Europe, a notion taken the firm direction to decay, and I did so upon dedicating a portion of my day to reading that book of family law that proved an unsurmountable obstacle for me last year. I’ve said it so many a time before – or only one, in that poem written in the late Autumn of 2001 – and I cannot afford paraphrasing it now: knowing how much family matters to her, I’d like so badly to offer to her all that I have to build a family together with her. Much to my misfortunte, my person or what I could offer does not fit into her notion of family. What’s worse: she is the one that best, not to say solely fits in mine. At least she is the one I can picture in my family par excellence.

Months ago I learn to tell apart letting go and giving up. What is coming now is yet another milestone in my spiritual growth, one that is a must when it comes to surviving over the long haul, especially alone in the gloomy distance. Thus far, over the innumerable love stories all ending in a hole I always have hard times clawing out of, I never made shift to acquire commande of the mastery of technically giving up while not losing the feleing of belonging – and not thinking of what will happen once this feeling loses its matter as a result of her officially belonging to someone else.

For the time being, I don’t even figure whether learning to endure pain is small portions will teach me to adapt, and eventually win in a battle I’ve lost so many times, each defeat serving as a vehicle for temptations to grin at me in the dark in and out.

I take it to heart whenever I see pairs holding each other’s hand, or a woman pushing a baby carriage.

Yet I have to take this with grac,e for falling out of grace is a lot more painful thant that.

And if this grace ever takes the shape of a teardrop in the corner of my eyea, well blessed is that teardrop.

For it wasn’t to the end of hiding those teardrops that I brought them here.

I just brought them where they belong.