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Reflection from May 25th, 2007 @ Age 25

RE:  **LOVE** ;oD



School’s done.  Work’s done.  Trial preparations are processing.  I feel better.  Today I got the panic attack again.  In fact, I woke up with it, and got it at work as well.  I told Carol today, though, what’s been going on, and felt much better about it.  It’s just a lot, to fall all on the shoulders of one young woman.  Although, perhaps, I think that’s why I am not alone in this.  I think it’s no coincidence I get to have my David through this all.

It’s all so confusing, trying to sort through all these feelings I’ve got going on—that are either tightly associated with, or triggered by, Dave’s death.  Who knew so much suffering could come from a high school relationship?  But those were my formative years, and, although it may have been in silence for many years—I’ve loved that boy in a huge way, for such a very long time.  It’s as if I couldn’t help, but love him.

I hate feeling like others feel the same way about Dave, as do I.  But no one feels the same way I do, about Dave.  In fact, I doubt most people feel even a scintilla of what I do.  They don’t see what I see.  They don’t feel what I feel.  No one.

So, I got on myspace today to cancel my account, and ended up updating my profile and surfing through my high school people.  Most of them, I don’t really care to speak with again.  And, I wouldn’t be surprised if they were all too busy as it were, to take the time or interest.  But, I did send out a friend request to Roopa, Mike Simon and Adam Crumrine.  And, even those people, I’m not even sure.


Ben Harper sings, “Your love’s the warmest place the sun does shine.”

I wanna talk to—I guess, I just kinda wanna say hello.  Whatever.  It’s funny, I think, that I feel I have “no life,” because there are particular people I’m interested in knowing more about, and wouldn’t mind showing an interest.  I suppose, it couldn’t hurt.  I mean, if someone took an interest in me—I think that would be okay.  As long as they didn’t get weird about it.  The tricky part, though, is the thin line that runs between.

I did not like that I was on there, and looking at other people’s profiles—and, immediately snapping judgments.  It feels okay in the moment, but I felt guilty shortly thereafter—if not, in that same moment.  I don’t want to be that kind of person.  I think it’s a defense mechanism—although, how effective it is, I am not sure.  I think, either way you look at it, looking up high school people brings me, emotionally—back to middle school days, and all that suffering in vain I went through.  All that suffering.  It’s incredible.

I really don’t understand why I suffer and struggle through every day, and yet—so many people seem to get along just fine, without all that.  I do think, it’s what makes me different from so many other people.  It’s my blessing and my curse.  I’m beautiful…


But, you can’t have beauty without suffering—without the struggle.  I live and grow, and learn to love a little bit more everyday of my life.  It makes me different, you know?  Always has.

Oliver just came over and laid with me on the couch!  I love it!


It’s funny, because, what with Oliver losing his winter coat and my sweaty hands…

It makes for such a mess!  I love the little bugger, though.

I really feel I’ve been taking leaps and bounds lately, as far as my self-development goes.  I think it’s because I’ve been putting so much time into it…

Especially, over the last year.  And, of course, I’m always challenging myself.  I wouldn’t be me, without that.  Leaps and bounds, I tell you.  Leaps and bounds.



First, what the hell is a dithyramb?  I’m reading Nietzsche, and am perplexed by that word.


Secondly, I just need to get off my chest how very much so, I don’t understand—how Dave could be someone’s (as in Lanza, Jackie Evans, etc.) “hero.”  Seriously!  I don’t fucking get it.  I mean, other than the fact that he was naturally good at everything he did (bastard—maybe that’s why?  Certainly wouldn’t be my criteria for a hero) and nice to other people (I guess the ones he didn’t date got the good treatment)—what the hell is so great about Dave, that he would be someone’s actual hero?  The reason escapes me.  I mean, if his life was so grand and marvelous and privileged—why was he constantly seeking to escape it, either through distraction or drinking?  He drank a lot in high school, a lot in college, and from the sound of his going to a scotch bar and then falling off the roof of his goddamn apartment building like a moron to his death splatter on the sidewalk (or wherever he landed)—I think he prolly drank just as much if not more, in med school.

Now, I don’t know if he was an alcoholic or not, but I know in my heart he was drunk when he died—and, it gives a whole new meaning to the 12steps “jails, institutions or death” talk, ohh my!

There are so many things I just don’t understand.  I’m not sure how they can make sense to anyone, or, maybe that’s just the point—they’re really not supposed to make any sense, at all.  Well…

Either way…

Back to Nietzsche.


“Thou hast made us for thyself,” said St. Augustine, “and our heart has no rest till it comes to Thee.”  This, so easy to believe for a brief moment before the altar or, perhaps, half-praying, half-meditating in an April wood, sounds like mockery beside a deathbed.  But we shall be far more truly mocked if, casting this away, we pin our comfort on the hope—perhaps even with the aid of seance and necromancy—of some day, this time forever, enjoying the earthly Beloved again, and no more.  It is hard not to imagine that such an endless prolongation of earthly happiness would be completely satisfying.

But, if I may trust my own experience, we get at once a sharp warning that there is something wrong.  The moment we attempt to use our faith in the other world for this purpose, that faith weakens.  The moments in my life when it was really strong have all been moments when God Himself was central in my thoughts.  Believing in Him, I could then believe in Heaven as a corollary.  But the reverse process—believing first in reunion with the Beloved, and then, for the sake of that reunion, believing in Heaven, and finally, for the sake of Heaven, believing in God—this will not work.  One can of course imagine things.  But a self-critical person will soon be increasingly aware that the imagination at work is his own; he knows he is only weaving a fantasy.  And simpler souls will find the phantoms they try to feed on void of all comfort and nourishment, only to be stimulated into some semblance of reality by pitiful efforts of self-hypnotism, and perhaps by the aid of ignoble pictures and hymns and (what is worse) witches.

We find thus by experience that there is no good applying to Heaven for earthly comfort.  Heaven can give heavenly comfort; no other kind.  And earth cannot give earthly comfort either.  There is no earthly comfort in the long run.


For the dream of finding our end, the thing we were made for, in a Heaven of purely human love could not be true unless our whole Faith were wrong.  We were made for God.  Only by being in some respect like Him, only by being a manifestation of His beauty, loving-kindness, wisdom or goodness, has any earthly Beloved excited our love.  It is not that we have loved them too much, but that we did not quite understand what we were loving.  It is not that we shall be asked to turn from them, so dearly familiar, to a Stranger.  When we see the face of God we shall know that we have always known it.  He has been a party to, has made, sustained and moved moment by moment within, all our earthly experiences of innocent love.  All that was true love in them was, even on earth, far more His than ours, and ours only because His.  In Heaven there will be no anguish and no duty of turning away from our earthly Beloveds.  First, because we shall have turned already; from the portraits to the Original, from the rivulets to the Fountain, from the creatures He made lovable to Love Himself.  But secondly, because we shall find them all in Him.  By loving Him more than them we shall love them more than we now do.

But all that is far away in “the land of the Trinity,” not here in exile, in the weeping valley.  Down here it is all loss and renunciation.  The very purpose of the bereavement (so far as it affects ourselves) may have been to force this upon us.  We are then compelled to try to believe, what we cannot yet feel, that God is our true Beloved.  That is why bereavement is in some ways easier for the unbeliever than for us.  He can storm and rage and shake his first at the universe, and (if he is a genius) write poems like Housman’s or Hardy’s.  But we, at our lowest ebb, when the least effort seems too much for us, must begin to attempt what seem impossibilities.


“Is it easy to love God?” asks an old author.  “It is easy,” he replies, “to those who do it.”  I have included two Graces under the word Charity.  But God can give a third.  He can awake in man, towards Himself, a supernatural Appreciative love.  This is of all gifts the most to be desired.  Here, not in our natural loves, nor even in ethics, lies the true centre of all human and angelic life.  With this all things are possible.


THE FOUR LOVES:  An Exploration of the Nature of Love.


Circa 1960