Thursday, August 25, 2011

What precisely is love, anyway? - Pt II

I’ve spoken previously about this (, but the topic of love remains a paradox.  Love somehow manages to be both constant, and variable.  No matter where life takes you, when you have truly loved somebody, I mean TRULY loved somebody with your entire being – can it ever truly disappear?  If you had loved beyond all that is imaginable, but were subsequently hurt beyond all comprehension, what is it that remains?  I say I do not love; and yet for some odd reason – I find myself caring.  Concerning myself; at considerable personal risk to all that truly matters to me now.  I am fortunate, in that I was raised by parents who had entrenched morals.  I’ve pretty much established myself as an independent thinker since childhood, forsaken some of my parent’s personal-beliefs; but never turned my back on their core-morals.  Basically, whatever you do, do the right thing.  Treat others as you would have them treat you; for the most part.  But the one thing that conflicts with me the most, involves my being raised in the Christian church.  Taught to be “Christ-like”, to “turn the other cheek”; to forgive.  To love unconditionally.  I underwent serious emotional devastation, commencing over a year ago; but have since managed to move on.  Took me the better part of a year to get my head on straight.  And yet with all this, this previous chapter in my life still appears to remain unclosed.  My previous love, in whom I had loved deeper than life itself, and who had subsequently willfully and wantonly hurt and disgraced me with reckless abandon – is on the brink of complete and utter ruin.  What is happening to her is a direct result of the extremely peculiar choices she had made, when carelessly discarding the love we once shared to the wayside.   And now, after all of this ruination; after such extreme betrayal – she reaches out to me for help.  Why, oh why mother, had you taught me to be “Christ-like”?   When most human beings would feel great satisfaction at seeing those who have betrayed them so callously, wither and fail; why do I feel pity instead?  Why do I still feel like I care, when I had not been afforded such compassion?  I’ve worn my bitterness like a badge of honor for over a year now.  And if that’s not complicated enough, I find myself – dare I say it – falling in love again; to someone else I had attempted for months to keep at an arms distance.  I must survive, and I must walk forward; and I do not want to ruin the love I share now.  But what is it that truly remains of a seemingly once-perfect love, since mired in a Judas kiss?   She now states that I must be laughing; yet why do I feel like the last person who would do so?  Where one is taught to be compassionate, how does one ever truly close the door?


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