Tuesday, March 4, 2014

We Can't Fall

We can't fall any further
If we can't deal with ordinary love
And we cannot reach any higher
If we can't deal with ordinary love

- U2, Ordinary Love

* * *

We're all bound by certain forces: the weight of all the evolution and revolution it took to bring us here, the pull of our personal gravity and the orbits we make round the moons of our desires, the black holes in our chests where disappointment, rejection and confusion dwell, the thrust and trajectory of our days - soaring out, speeding past, reaching its apex and then and then and then falling back to earth. This then is our common cause. This then is our common ground, and this then is were it falls apart, loses faith in those forces, scatters, breaks apart, disintegrates and we are left wondering where it all went to.

We dream in grandeur and our pains are magnificent, stultifying, technicolor ordeals - the hubris of our fantasies - but dude, dear one, my brother, my sister, my comrade in fuckeditude, it is what is plain and ordinary and everpresent that saves us, that we walk right past because it is so common. Our pride and self-importance blind us to it: love.

That which is ordinary is easily dismissed as somehow lacking presence. No one notices the sidewalk - it is just there. No one notices the sidewalk until it is broken, canted at an angle, chipped, falling away. Do you notice the love that has attended your days? Set aside the failings of yourself and others trying to communicate this love, you must acknowledge the fact that you have been loved, are loved, will be loved. Maybe it will include romance and plenty of mind-bending sex; maybe it will include the satisfaction of acknowledgement of what it is you bring; maybe it will exist only in your eyes as you see something, someone that needs you and you act and do what you can do.

The religious will tell you God's love fills their life and it is so, for they believe it to be so.
The secular will tell you of the freedom to give and receive love as the height of human expression, and it is so, for they believe it to be so.
The fucked will only tell you of the love they lost, the love they never had and it will be so for they believe it to be so.

What you believe about love, about anything, will have consequences in how your life unfolds. Our expectation guides our experience and our experience becomes the bedrock of our expression.

If that is so (and it is so) how can you fall any further than you already have? If you blot out the possibility of love, of being loved, of being worthy of love, then you are already at the edge of the universe, light years from your possibility. How can you reach any higher if you have placed a keeper on what is possible, on how love can be expressed in your life? If fucking and sucking is what you know of love then you haven't scratched the surface of what is there for you.

You fuck yourself by the things you come to believe because you mistake your heartache and losses, your unskilled performance as all your life affords you. Such arrogance! You are on the road to find out what your life can be and you cannot judge it while it is in process. Man is an event that cannot judge itself, but, for better or worse, is left to the judgement of others. Don't preclude your possibility because love didn't arrive as you wanted it do. It is here nonetheless. It hides in plain sight. It is ordinary. It is made up of the millions upon millions of acts we each take to make our way down the road. I will also tell you this: the road itself is the love you've been missing.

* * *

If we have failed in our romances, it does not mean we cannot love. It means we have more to learn and having something more to learn is why we're on the road. If we have failed to recognize the hurt in our children over the frightened things we say and do, it does not mean we cannot be there for them now. No feeling is final, love. We are here to find out what it like to be here. The road we travel is our destination and it is blessedly ordinary, the sum of all desires written in a million languages, by millions of different voices speaking in tongues: love, sweet, sweet love.

* * *

Boom, and may your bon temps rouler.