Relationships and that thing called love

It's been an interesting time for a few of my friends. One has taken the plunge and entered a relationship; another got into a relationship and was swiftly and cruelly pushed out of it; and yet another, who has been in an on-off and long-distance relationship for some seven years, was welcomed back warmly for a few days before being told that someone else was going to take his place after all.

Love isn't just about emotions, it's also about shifts in the balance of power. The power to bring joy and to also destroy. Expectations, disappointment, secrets, pride, vulnerability, sex, lies, and videotapes. (Okay, scratch the last one.) I'd need several hundred entries in this weblog to even begin to chart the movement of love. Could one ever write it all down? A book, a painting, a composition titled "Love: A Symphony in Infinite movements"? It's the stuff of songs, movies, novels, poetry, art, gossip, history, deaths. Everyone encounters it in some form and everyone gets to experience both sides of the spectrum at least a few times - from happiness to devastation (which can sometimes happen in the space of two minutes.)

Love's a frightening thing, both beautiful and terrible. And I'm running into cliches now, so I should stop here. One last thing. Or two things. The first (another cliche! Yay!) - to love and to be hurt is what it means to be human, a sad beauty of our existence. The second - a poem that champions love. Composed so very poignantly by a favorite fellow, Ralph Waldo Emerson, who I discovered on the shores of Lake Winnepesauke many summers ago.

Give All To Love

Give all to love;
Obey thy heart;
Friends, kindred, days,
Estate, good fame,
Plans, credit, and the muse;
Nothing refuse.

'Tis a brave master,
Let it have scope,
Follow it utterly,
Hope beyond hope;
High and more high,
It dives into noon,
With wing unspent,
Untold intent;
But 'tis a god,
Knows its own path,
And the outlets of the sky.
'Tis not for the mean,
It requireth courage stout,
Souls above doubt,
Valor unbending;
Such 'twill reward,
They shall return
More than they were,
And ever ascending.

Leave all for love;?
Yet, hear me, yet,
One word more thy heart behoved,
One pulse more of firm endeavor,
Keep thee to-day,
To-morrow, for ever,
Free as an Arab
Of thy beloved.
Cling with life to the maid;
But when the surprise,
Vague shadow of surmise,
Flits across her bosom young
Of a joy apart from thee,
Free be she, fancy-free,
Do not thou detain a hem,
Nor the palest rose she flung
From her summer diadem.

Though thou loved her as thyself,
As a self of purer clay,
Tho' her parting dims the day,
Stealing grace from all alive,
Heartily know,
When half-gods go,
The gods arrive.

~ by Ralph Waldo Emerson

Posted by Monoceros at January 16, 2005 12:22 PM