THOSE THREE WORDS... THOSE QUESTIONS...

The thing about those three words is that they need to be said to be believed. Said out loud. Meanwhile, over at Chris' Journey Out [click here]:

I love you. Big words to lay on anyone. Some of us use the term freely, some only in a hidden moment, and for others not at all. It's a personal thing and expression and it's meaning can vary from one person to the next. All subject to interpretation. The fear being your interpretation may vary from that of the other person. I accept his love and he's trying hard to please me, probably recognizing more with time my contribution to the relationship and a view to the bigger issues I'm contending with. On I go.

Well, the circumstances couldn't be more different, but here is what I had to say in the summer of 2006 [click here]:

I have lied least here, to tell the truth, where admitting what I would rather not admit is least likely to stick to "me". So, here is a little truth. Again.

I said in my last "flaming" post that I had said "I love you" to another man, and that those words were never uttered without meaning or danger, or both. And the truth is they are not the end but the beginning of something, or rather, even if they ARE the end of something, they draw the beginning of something else after them. And so they have. Once having said "I love you" and meant it, on whatever level, what is to keep me from saying "beloved" or "dear one" or "sweetheart" or "baby"? every one of which in turn opens doors that lead to places we had no intention of going... but suddenly, there we are.

How does something as innocent as "baby" become so loaded and profound? Well, we invest it with meaning and danger. And it becomes dynamite.

What came next has nothing to do with Chris' story, but might perhaps be of interest. What I went on to say was:

So, the man who longed to live in righteousness has become an adulterer, in as far as his mind can serve as his body, and his words leave traces in his body that pull him across space to the far corner of that distant place, where a heart that deserves better listens for those words and hopes, hopes against hope, that those words will continue, and be true. And those traces chain him as well, in tension and in hope of response. The seducer seduced, the betrayer in fear of betrayal, the liar in dread of anything but truth.

And what of fidelity? or even mere loyalty? or any other claim of love, of that patient, understanding, forgiving love that has endured twenty-six years of slights and wrongs and misunderstanding? Where is the rein on my tongue and heart that would be the least I owed her I promised to love, honor, and obey? Well, the sad truth is that for twenty years I have betrayed her in thought and word; the only difference now is that this time it is no shadow or dream of perfection that receives my betrayal as its due, but another soul in all its vulnerability and nakedness.

And herewith another ugly truth: vulnerability, nakedness, I cannot resist. And everywhere it calls out to me. Where I answer, I hope to be better than I am, but I am drawn to it not only because I want to protect it--there is something too that wants to push it up against its limits, to draw tears, to bind it close, to leave it no recourse but to stay bound tight, stay close.

Whoever said that all was fair in love and war was a cynic of the first water. For what is there declared fair is anything but fair, and love and war are both hell unless the duty to make peace makes itself known and redeems the horror of war, and the need to serve more than to demand in love redeems the more selfish and sordid demands of love. The moth is drawn to the flame, but the flame calls out to the moth and glories in the moth's attraction. Without a moth, what is the flame but a natural process that throws off more heat than light?

Meanwhile, just in case we thought we had trouble worth worrying about, Bigg over at My Confessions writes [click here]:

What I do want is just to finally let go. So what if the surgery will give me another six month lease on life? So what if that's letting down the kids and my posse and HB and everybody else? I'm so fucking tired and hurt so damn bad emotionally and physically that I can't muster the strength or the patience or the guts to be anything but a whiny five year old brat. I want my bed, I want my dope and I want no more complications or obligations or anything. I wanna just fucking die now and get it over with, I guess.

I am reminded, though of course it is not the same thing at all, of the phone call I got from my grandmother when she was in the hospital with lung cancer, being besieged by her children and the medical establishment to keep fighting, not to give up. She was 81, and had been through it all before, and she said to me on the phone that she was just too tired, and she really didn't want to go on fighting.

One of the things I am happiest about having done in my life is that way back then, I told her: nobody but you can decide when it's time to fight and when it's time to give up and let go. If that's what you really want to do, do it. We will all survive. She died before the weekend was over. And I think I can say that she died at peace. She was looking for someone to give her permission, and I was the one who said what she wanted to hear.

What's so strange about life is the way the same things keep cropping up, but each time they are completely different--there is no deciding what to do based on what was done before--the right thing to do always depends on the people and the circumstances, which are never the same.

That's enough wisdom--or whatever it is--for one day.
Hang in there, everybody.
C