Love is...

the thought that has been consumming my mind for the past few weeks, and no big surprise as I've been contemplating my time here, looking back at my past and setting my sights on the future. No big surprise since I've been reading "a story of irreconcilable love and infidelities", each page burning a hole in my conciousness, forcing me to think about the love in my life. No big surprise as the word has been swimming in my mouth and spilling from my lips more often lately. I've recently finished reading The Unbearable Lightness of Being by Milan Kundera and I can't really begin to adequately relate a synopsis of this book, nor explain its affect on me. It just is. But maybe if I post a couple of passages for you, you might be able to understand where I'm coming from: "He suddenly
recalled the famous myth from Plato's Symposium: People were hermaphrodites until God split them in two, and now all the halves wander the world over seeking one another. Love is the longing for the half of ourselves we have lost." If you knew my mind, you'd know that I never bought into the myth of the "soul mate". In fact, I hate the words, the idea. I've always thought of it as a made up word, conjured up my marketing executives and authors of lonely hearts books in an effort to make people feel less than they are if they are single. To me, the idea of the "soul mate" was invented to create a feeling of dissatisfaction in the individual so that they'd have that wanting and the desire to buy into goods and services to make them more desirable to "catch" their soul mate. BUT, I do believe in the idea of deep connection, between male and females, romantic attachments or not. I believe that there are those special people that can touch your life and turn your world into blinding beauty, catching you off guard to the point you weep with delight and disbelief that you are so blessed. I believe that we are all looking for something, an unknown element that will just fit, without explanation, when it's right. We want that Jerry Maguire moment, to really feel it when "you complete me."


Sublime. Divine. Celestial. Love is my religion. And I can finally see it nearly everyday, in every way. In the wind that blows through the trees. In the river that pushes past the road. In the clouds where I swear I can see God (I've rejected the idea of God as a man. Now I'm more comfortable with the Creator as creamy, cumulous wisps of smoke and water). I can feel it in the rush of blood and pleasure to all corners of my extremities, my heart and my brain, submerging me in wave after wave of bliss, nearly suffocating me.

But during the week, betweent the professional hours of 8:30 and 4:30, I see it in my kids. Their eyes, their smiles, the bashfulness and playfulness. I know now why people covet them so. Love personified.
Another quote from Kundera's book: "Perhaps the reason we are unable to love is that we yearn to be loved, that is, we demand something (love) from our partner instead of delivering ourselves up to him demand-free and asking for nothing but his company." I didn't demand the
love of these children, only their attention during class. Never in my wildest dreams did I think I woud fall in love in them, so irrevocably, and that love would be returned through smiles, laughs and acceptance. These kids have taught me to demand precious little from the adults in my personal life as the pleasure of their company is enough to sustain me, and the rewards from this is the love that I seek.

I'm often thinking about next year and of leaving my kids behind. I know that once I take off on the plane, that will be it for our relationship. All I'll have are the memories and the photographs. And I feel my heart squeezing even now and I know this is love as well, this pain that is sometimes is sometimes love's shadow on a sunny day.