Love

“We shall meet in the place where there is no darkness.”
― George Orwell, 1984

I rarely open up and talk about love.

Am I shy?

A little; but it’s more a case that my language is too febrile or too literal to do justice to the topic.

There is, also, an all-pervading sense that save the beatific stature of nature, with which I always fall deeply under its spell, I’m not sure what it means to be loved.

Yes, there are signs and symbols but the arc of certainty I feel in nature, especially in the early morn, where I’m apt to see and come across a few wild animals, isn’t the same, or it doesn’t feel the same, as those people who profess love.

I know that might sit uneasily with the reciprocal nature of love, but I can’t express it any other way.

(Perhaps they’re the same species of love but in a different dimension.)

It might also be as a result of not being able to fully express my emotions, whereas, with nature, there is no expectancy of anything.

(Frankly, I don’t think nature cares a jot about my senseabilities and in fact in the case of a lot animals (e.g. rabbits, foxes and deer) they’re shit scared of us and run away at the merest hint of our presence.)

In sharing these few words, all I’m trying to express is the fact that it’s a ‘subject’ that I need pay much greater attention to because I know:

(a) I won’t be here forever; and

(b) I need to say the things I really mean before it’s too late.

Oh Yes
by Charles Bukowski

there are worse things than
being alone
but it often takes decades
to realize this
and most often
when you do
it's too late
and there's nothing worse
than
too late.

Blessings,

Julian

Photo by Adrian Balasoiu on Unsplash