A friend, my friend, a friend. (III)

Dear all of you most beauteous and precious feminine readers, I must, out of charity, inform you that there is a good bit of verbage herein which refers to women in the possessive or makes reference to a certain choosing which is metaphorically likened to shopping for a lawn.  Please be not offended.  I am a man, and a wife is her husband's just as he is his wife's.  And I have no intention of pretense that a girl is worth only as much as a shrubbery.  'twould be quite silly of me, in fact.
  And now, to business.

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All I ever do
is fall for you
And every word we've ever said
is like a stamp inside my head.
It'd be a lie to say I've really seen
any thing you didn't see with me
ever since I thought of you and me.


Rational thought has damned itself
And I must start trying something else.


All's well ends well, they say the same.  Well, that'd be all good if I knew what was going to happen.

Objective thought and reason and considerations and prudence and self-knowledge is all well and good too.  At least until something in me has decided to go and fall for someone else.  And it doesn't make any sense.  There's no good reason for me to do something like this.  In fact, it is quite unreasonable.  And I don't understand it.  And the thing is, I feel I must, for there's no denying that there is a such thing as 'like liking' or 'having a crush' or 'falling for' somebody.  In any (even an adolescent) dogmatic exploration of the nature of love, crushes must be accounted for.

Truth is, I spent the past week in a state of having 'fallen for' Mary, whatever that means.  Essentially it consisted of me spending my time thinking about her, and her and me, and all sorts of silly things and how pretty she is and all that--and of course, how terribly perfect she is in every way.  I know this feeling, and so do others.  It's that which makes people think someone is, by all means, the best of their gender to have ever lived, to say things like 'all roads lead back to you', or to behave as though they would never be happy without the 'love' of this person. Perhaps it is partly the mystery and allure of the forbidden.  And perhaps it is partly the love of an idea, something which none could ever fulfill.  But surely it is a truly human fact that these things happen, and that we do not have so much control over them, no matter how fully we understand and believe in our rationality of existence.

And the fact is that none of this makes any sense.  Logically, I am completely capable of reminding myself that I am beginning to see a relationship between us as the only good which could come out of the situation.  I could remember that I am beginning to take the good of being single and pretend that it is no good at all.  I could remind myself that God works through the love of philia as much as that of eros.  I could try to bring it to mind that love is hardly a thing which is any more present in a marriage, in any automatic way, than it is in a friendship.  And I can reason out that clearly, I am attempting to attach myself where I should not, and where there is not even any hold.  But that helps not, and though I had no intention of pursuing Mary, I had still a great longing, what anyone would see as a great crush upon her (sounds horribly violent, doesn't it?)

And what I am forced to realize is that this thing called a crush or any of these desperate desires seem, in any real sense, to be simply a very strong sort of disordered appetite.  And it makes sense.  My appetite for food is disordered.  My appetite for drink is disordered.  My appetites for games and parties and feasting and literature and music and appearances and affirmation and art and sleep and money and comfort are all disordered.  Why should I assume that the appetite I may have for relationships, whether it be friendly or romantic, is the solemn and beneficent voice of God in my life?  Why should I assume that a desperate desire for someone's presence, for some pledge of their love, is God's will, and should, therefore, be immediately and single-heartedly pursued?  And that's if I have the presence of mind to think of God.  Usually it's more like assuming that this relationship is precisely what I need, that the fact that I want it is any withstanding indication that it's any good for me.

Now, in Mary's case, whether it be chance or some arrangement of passion in concordance with prudence, well, it turns out that she would be precisely the woman I would pursue in right mind.  Perhaps what captured my attention so fully is that she is so unafraid of human touch--so many have learned to fear the graze even of a hand or a glancing pass of the hip such that frantic apologies abound at the merest bump.  For someone like me who relates so well through physical contact, her ability to trust must be horribly alluring.  Or it might be her realism and wisdom, her humilty which checks my rampant and raucous pride.  Perhaps it is her purity or her chastity-her holiness.  And perhaps it is that she is precisely the type of girl whom I can see myself coming to at the end of each day, whom I would trust to raise my children, whom I would trust to watch after me.

And yet, none of these things would seem to prove that she is the fairest one of all.  None would suggest that she is the only star in the sky, or that she is the brightest, but realistically, it merely shows that she shines and that sufficiently for me.  Perhaps, though, this is the same infatuation as occurs between a man and his country.  Modern thought would have us all recognize in writing and with a judge present that 'no, my country is not inherently better than all others and does not deserve any special rights'. But human hearts, if left to themselves, will always have a great love for the very spot where they make their home.  But then, it occurs to me, that this only happens when that plot of land is already my home.  It would be silly indeed to love Wales above my motherland and home.  It would be silly to love my neighbor's house as the best.  Properly, the sun which shines on our own lives is no brighter than all other stars, but we love it and look to it as the only source of light because that it should be, for us.  We love it because it is our star.  We love it because it gives heat and life to us.


But then, wouldn't infatuation with a girl who is not mine, or who, in fact, is someone else's, wouldn't it be as silly as loving my neighbor's garden or having a passionate and romantic symbolism in my life centered around the warmth and dawning of Alpha Centauri or Sigma-2398?  But these things happen.  We humans recognize those with these disordered passions, it is only natural: astronomers who seem to consider Saturn their home, botanists who lust after every new specimen, as well as those who spend their lives pining after some forbidden maid.  The thing is, we are so slow to recognize any necessity in the temperance of these passions, these appetites--especially when it is as hard as getting over a girl.  We are commanded not to covet another's wife, and though we may find ourselves so desperately attracted to her that we feel we may not be able to control ourselves, we must make some providence for our restraint, as we must understand that this appetite is simply not in its proper place and will not find satisfaction.  (I will never see, no matter my desire, the dawning of Sigma-2398.)

The proper place of this passion, of this infatuation, is that same proper place of patriotism, of centralism, of love for one's own...anything.  It is when I am pledged to a woman that I properly am infatuated with her, for she is my sun, my shining love, my great and precious lady.  It is proper that I have this love for my lady.  She carries me onwards as I do her and she is my love as I am hers.  We share entire lives.  It is improper, then, to have this precious devotion to another's wife or to one who is not at least on the way to becoming yours.  It seems almost as silly to be searching for a garden for yourself and fall in love at sight of one, deciding immediately to purchase it above all others simply because its arrangement has caught your eyes spectacularly or because of the exotic and rare flower it holds, and disregarding entirely its ability to provide as you need of it.

And this all brings me back to Mary.  She, in no manner, is on her way to becoming my wife.  And if accompanying these feelings of devotion to her are thoughts of us in relationship, I should not be surprised, for that is the only proper place for such a devotion.  I do, however, need to recognize that there is a need to repress these appetites and ideas, just as I might repress the idea of a delicious dessert when it is quite imprudent to receive one.  I must remember that these thoughts of relationship are merely those, imaginations and fantasies, and that though it is but a facet of my human nature that I experience this, it is hardly something which should, by this sole proof, be pursued.

And there comes a final thought, one of danger and one situationally specific.  It is written by a good Catholic man that we should not drink because we have to, but precisely because we do not have to.  And one of the things which he means is that it is truly the most dangerous time to partake of a good when it seems to be the only good, and the most destructive time to enjoy a blessing is when that blessing seems the sole medication for a lack which is suffered.  Just the same, I believe, it is quite imprudent to embark upon a relationship in a time of this unwarranted devotion, for the arch has been built before the foundation, and as soon as the keystone of infatuation is removed, the entire structure will crumble and the wreckage will seem to present quite a challenge of extrication.  When a girl is seen as the best and most precious of all girls and when this girl is not, in any serious manner, designated as one's significant other, it is properly not the best time to begin such a project, as one will soon find that his nationalistic passion was wasted on a foreign land, and, when the land is reached, the voyager knows not how to love a home.

Mary is a precious friend and a dear ally in as much as we share.  And yet, she is no partner of romance.  It shall be understood that though she is perhaps a very proper candidate for marriage, a pursuance of such is improper as such a juncture in which I am so clearly infatuated.  All that seems to betray a sort of expectation, which could grow into taking things in a relationship for granted and, having not entered into the relationship in a right mind, being forced to leave the same in a mind even worse off.

My end is light and light my love
and to my end I gladly go.
And if you would come, my sun, my dove,
This light I'd gladly share and show.

A friend, my friend, a friend. (II)

The three words, most looked at as magical, are, in fact, most probably the least magical of things to be said. There is no show or pretense with them--no sleight, but only a great simplicity, that great unity, as things are joined to one.

"Aye, John, but that is precisely what you do not want to be doing. It seems to me, at least, the sign and signature of unhealthy attachment, of misguided purpose." We sat over a good coffee--what poetry is there not made better by some black coffee?--John had been doing some self-reflection recently, figuring the direction of his life, and he has this nasty struggle of insecurity and fear of something being missed. Just now, we were thinking of a phrase which any will find familiar, the idea of someone 'loving me for me.'

"But it asks a good question," I continued, "Why would you go and love another person in the first place anyway, why do you bother?"

"A year ago, I would have said 'for reassurance, support, for comfort, because it made me happy' and things like that. But right now, I can't say what I think-- all that seems all so complicated, and my relationships have never been so complex, and when they have, they burned like a pile of leaves. If two people had all those things on their minds all the time, they'd just end up sitting next to each other, holding hands, being reassured. And now that I think of it, all those ideas are precisely those pointing to a 'loving me for me' ideal of relationship." John finished, quizically.

"Slightly more talkative than usual, aren't you?" I asked, kidding. John wasn't ever short of words if he had something to say. "Here, I think someone told me this once. Now, what is the end of that kind of relationship, 'loving me for me'? Where does it put you? In a relationship, right?" He assented. "But after that, nothing."

"That's my problem!" John jumped in, "because that's precisely where I become too attached, too desperate, insecure. That's precisely where I abstract everything to the idea of having a girlfriend."

"That's what I'm saying. If you love her for her, you end up loving her for you. But then, if you can't love a girl for herself, why love her at all?"

"But I do love her, you forget" John reflected, "and if not herself, who else is there to love her for? In any real end, I suppose I love her as a child of God, but that's hardly practical."

"No, it's not, but it's right, I think. Someone told me 'Love works toward Salvation'. And in all desolation, I suppose that the only reason any of us would have for loving anyone else is that God loved them first."

"But how do I go about that? I can't just go out and say, 'We're off to the movies because God took you to the movies first.' That's ridiculous."

"No, I mean that when you look at Lu, you need to think not about how much you love her and whatever that would end in, but how much she is simply loved already--and from there, embark upon getting her to heaven. Love is, by far, most practically represented in a romantic light. When you can see the one great irrevocable good that can come out of it, it's easier to do."

"But what is it that I would do? What are you saying?"

"That you do the same as you always do, but that you trust God in it. Think, why did you choose Lucy?"

"Well, I suppose she's pretty..."

"I'll pretend for your sake that that wasn't the first thing you said"

"...and, well.... she's a good person."

"John, are you choosing a girlfriend or an employee? Why did you go out with Susie, or Joy?"

"Well, I guess I just wanted to go out with them. It was fun. And they were great, and pretty, and nice and all, but I don't know, I guess we never really got past just liking each other. But with Lucy, there are days when I don't want to hear a word out of her mouth and I'm tired and she's never understood how to play the piano but she insists upon plunking out chopsticks again. Or that one ditty where you roll your knuckles on the keys. Again and again.

"But I suppose that every day, I would still smile if she needed me to. I'd still drive her home and kiss her on the cheek after a row. I'd still love that scar on her forearm from the time she tripped coming into Ms. Nyler's class, if only because of the times we've laughed about it. And I'd be happy with her going out with her friends instead, or taking her time alone instead of me. And I look at her putting the pizzas on the display, and taking orders, and saying 'have a nice day' and I'm happy because she is. I guess the real difference is that I'd cut and run if I ever really believed that everything wasn't better for her having me around. Used to be I'd not go till I was damn sure I wasn't better off.

"I suppose I chose her because she is a good person, but also because she'd be a good wife, a good mother. I chose her for her sake as much as for mine. Because I think we'll both be better off. And because I think my children will be graced to have her as a mother."

"And that's why this is different," I proposed, "because it's objective?"

"I suppose, but I don't quite get what you mean."

"You chose her because of who she is, who she's chosen to be, and for her sake. And you love her because God does."

"Well, I'd say that's true, but they're just as true for you as for me, and I'd say that monogamy's pretty high on my list of relationship requirements."

"But that's just what I mean by objective! You chose her for the same reasons I would, or any other man. Because she's good, she's holy, she's beautiful, she's virtuous. And you love her in God's place, just as any man should."

"Yes, but you're not hearing me. I say there's something more than that. There's something to be said that she's with me, and no one else. There's something past all that objective stuff. All the good girls aren't just out with all the good guys. Life's not just one big orgy of virtue."

"And that's when you and she made the choice to be exclusive. And the thing that's different now with you, now you're with Lucy, it's that you really made that decision for a reason. And those reasons are all I think marriage is anyway. Just like a priest decides, for the glory of god, to spend his life serving the church, and therein receives the authority to facilitate, on God's behalf, the sacraments. You decided, and may decide in a much more serious way, to serve Lu with your whole self, and will thus receive the authority to facilitate, to embark upon that unity which can only be given to one, that physical pledge of the entirety of life.

"That, I think, is what Rob didn't understand. A priest doesn't suddenly stop finding women horribly beautiful just because he's made this decision. He does, however, choose not to act upon that most terrible beauty. Same, a married man isn't only ever going to see a good wife and a loving mother in that woman he has chosen and who has chosen him, but he will not act upon that with other women. If you are just going to love someone for them, and if that relationship becomes your only end, then the girl becomes an interchangeable asset. Romance is not in some 'True Love', but is in an irrevocable choice made upon an objective truth."

"Yes," commented John, cleaning the table, "that rant is all good, but you forget one thing. That even with all that objective goodness, it would never work if she and I were not friends, and if I was not able to love her like a sister."

"Well," said I, "I suppose that otherwise you would pretty much be screwed."

And with a nod, he followed me out the door, dumping our tray into the trash as we left. And that's what John and I talked about.

A friend, my friend, a friend. (I)

Her voice like polished candle-wax

with words like wicks, like shined brass tacks,

the pow'r of every golden lock

when backed by sun, of heaven's stock.

As if to bring the light to bear

to bring it shining through flaxen hair.

She called again today, as did Mary. A simple question of this, or that, or whether I would see her then, or now, or where I would be at such a time, you get the idea. True friends, and truer Christians, are those with whom I may share my life, and few men, manhood nonwithstanding, I find, learn this until late, that a life shared, a unity of purpose in the will of God is that simple singularity of which consists the 'Love' which all seem to desire, but not to recognize. And so I am found with more sisters than heart-felt brothers, sisters who are unafraid to share another's drink, to bear freely their souls, to appear weak. You see, men, just as women, are plagued by society's insecurities, but after this, men are expected to still maintain an appearance of emotional composure, whereas women are expected simply to maintain physical composure. Men, overcome their fear of being too strong, of standing too tall, are often, unawares, still afraid of being weak, of ever sitting down. But enough justification.

Back to Lu. She and Mary were both asking after me today, as I found upon my return home. I love them both, in ways it would seem that most would find to be a sort of strange, uncommitted bigamy. (not to mention the cuckoldery given John and Lucy's relationship. Every masculine-feminine relationship seems to imply sex. Granted, it does, but in a different way). I don't seem to understand it. But then, neither do I think the world does. Plus, I'd willingly step into polygamy as soon as more friends came along, if that be what you silly people would insist upon calling it.  If my life is not pledged to any certain person, then it is pledged to everyone, at least as far as it could be pledged to anyone at any time.  Is a priest a polygamist in marriage to the church?

Now, Mary, of course, left a long message, going on about this or that, or something she was happy about, or singing for a moment, spinning my name around her finger and throwing it through the phone as if to catch me off guard, to startle me into remembering how much I love her, and her me in turn. And Lucy, never much for long strings of words, but an introvert in every sentence, left a simpler one. Both seeking the same, both expressing the same, that we were friends, that friends are in love as any lovers, that love is joyful, happy, and gay, like every word I know they say.

And yes, you're right that, as emotions go, love is hardly a well-paved road. But, then, who would you say has paved the road for friendship, or brotherhood, or marriage? And are these even different? I would say to my wife, with Solomon,

You have ravished my heart, my sister, my bride,

You have ravished my heart with one glance of your eyes.

And I would say the same, grandly, to each Mary, or Lu, as leads emotion and as leads inspiration, and romance, and really, love. The love of a man and a wife, nowhere, is distinguished from that of a sister, and that of a sister and a friend is only distinguished as far as unity in doing the will of our father in heaven would distinguish some from others. We so often live as though Christ did not come, and though he did not change marriage, he did gave circumcision of the heart, gave a new opportunity for love, of which marriage is one part.

Now, I say this not to disparage the exclusive and monogamous love of Lucy and John, but rather, to put in perspective the role of women in my life (sounding as if to pretend that a woman's 'role' is any more restrictive than that of a man). I am to say that romance is as a part of any true friendship as it is the life of a man and a wife, that masculine and feminine find love and unity in a special way, even without that unity of male and female, that biological convergence which, necessary, is made sacrament, both sign and reality of total, physical, spiritual, human unity. They were created man and woman, male and female is simply how their bodies, forced into reality, fell into place around the grander truth. Sexuality is but potential for a sacrament, bodies are unconsecrated hosts. The Eucharist is Christ in fullness, but not one man can look on it and see the fullness of his glory.  Any protestant, however, can pray to God, can love him, but it is simply not the same.

But that, that is what I said to John today, for that is where I was when the two called upon my home. I find myself explaining myself to others quite frequently, something which, justfully, slightly worries me. In living radically, set apart, I am to expect a certain degree of explaining, of justification, but far from assuring that I am living radically and correctly, the fact simply assures me that I am living differently. I suppose this is enough for now, and that I must only do my best. And that conversation, referenced, with John--I would to share it here, but I do not wish to lengthen unnecessarily this post, and so, I will share it later, or tomorrow. It is one in which I share much of my heart; I would gladly share the same with you.

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Greetings, all, as I am new to this space.  Michael, you will see, is my name, and I share with you poetry disguised as prose (for fear of being too self-satisfied, I might call it poetry which I am far too unpoetic to express properly).  Take what you might of my words, I have written them to be read.  This, here, might be called fiction, but, of course, nothing of any import herein is fabricated, as all characters are as real as myself, and confront things still more real than that.

Peace.

Mark this!

I have a friend most rugged.
who does not like to be huggèd.


Except by certain special girls
He also likes short poems.
So these are for him.
I hope he likes them.


If human loves are made an end,
I hang on others, their branches bend,
And I slide off, fall on my head,
When I set my eyes on human store,
I'm somehow always wanting more.
friends looking less human than before.


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If I set out to have a swing,
the trees seem tools for fastening,
But if I intend to reach the sky,
I find the sympathy their trunks imply.