Tuesday, June 15, 2004
 
A Little Drop of Poison

My interest in this thing known as Love is growing. I have never been 'in love' romantically. So I stand on the outside as an unbiased investigator. Maybe not, I find myself being jaded all the time. So here I continue my exploration of Love, unlike other 'normal' people instead of experiencing it I'll just observe, take notes, and make conclusions. And you the reader aid me on my Quest of Understanding Love.


"'But you said you did not love our father. How can you have faith in him if you didn't love him?'
'Maybe that's the reason,' Adam said slowly, feeling his way. 'Maybe if I had loved him I would have been jealous of him. You were. Maybe - maybe love makes you suspicious and doubting. Is it true that when you love a woman you are never sure - never sure of her because you aren't sure of yourself? I can see it pretty clearly. I can see how you loved him and what it did to you. I did not love him. Maybe he loved me. He tested me and hurt me and punished me and finally he sent me out like a sacrifice, maybe to make up for something. But he did not love you, and so he had faith in you. Maybe - why, maybe it's a kind of reverse.'"
- John Steinbeck, East of Eden


Song - John Donne

GO and catch a falling star,
Get with child a mandrake root,
Tell me where all past years are,
Or who cleft the devil's foot,
Teach me to hear mermaids singing,
Or to keep off envy's stinging,
And find
What wind
Serves to advance an honest mind.

If thou be'st born to strange sights,
Things invisible to see,
Ride ten thousand days and nights,
Till age snow white hairs on thee,
Thou, when thou return'st, wilt tell me,
All strange wonders that befell thee,
And swear,
No where
Lives a woman true and fair.

If thou find'st one, let me know,
Such a pilgrimage were sweet;
Yet do not, I would not go,
Though at next door we might meet,
Though she were true, when you met her,
And last, till you write your letter,
Yet she
Will be
False, ere I come, to two, or three.


These two pieces of writing are pretty contemptuous. But there are millions of other pieces of writing to say otherwise. It seems to me that Love is perhaps the most confusing emotion. Before one knows for certain that they are 'in love,' they must go through a series of questions and doubt. Is it too hard to accept something that is natural? Or is love just an illusion from our feeble minds?

Even I too, contradict myself because I can not accept anything for what they are. I must question everything that needs no questioning. All the important questions are already asked by the time we're an adult. But the philosophers must continue, or else they'd find themselves bored to tears. So I continue my futile quest, perhaps it's not so unimportant? Who knows? I might learn a thing or two.


- posted by Julia @ 10:29 PM | | 0 rocks in pond



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