Love is a basic dimension of human experience that is variously conveyed as a sense of tender affection, an intense attraction, the foundation of intimacy and good interpersonal chemistry, willing self-sacrifice on behalf of another, and as an ineffable sense of affinity or connection to nature, other living beings, or even that which is unseen. It manifests itself in feelings, emotion, behavior, thoughts, perception and attitude. It influences, underlies and defines major patterns in interpersonal relationships and self-identification. [wiki]
Love is indescribable.
"If I know what love is, it is because of you". ~ Hermann Hesse
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i was out at Powell one day running errands. I stopped at a little vendor table; a South American man from Montreal was carving rings and jewelry out of bone, wood, and nuts.
he explained that each ring had a personality all its own, and that, in short, the rings made him more then he made them. so if his heart was placed into a piece, it was because the piece drew his heart out of him and embodied it in whole.
"what brings you to SF," i asked. with a momentary pause, he looked to the evening sky and exclaimed, "a woman!"
as i perused the smooth curves of his pieces trying to match them to specific girls, the sound of emission-free busses and tourist foot traffic trickled down red rust brick into a prussian blue dusk.
i thought of ladies who made me smile.
the carver, donned in hemp and time-worn reservation, leaned in with his raspy voice and wrinkled hands.
"the only absolute thing in this world is love."
i looked up to see the sincerity in his body language, put down the rings, and told him i'd be back with a custom design.
haven't seen him since.
Love is a temporary madness, it erupts like volcanoes and then subsides. And when it subsides you have to make a decision. You have to work out whether your roots have so entwined together that it is inconceivable that you should ever part. Because this is what love is. Love is not breathlessness, it is not excitement, it is not the promulgation of promises of eternal passion, it is not the desire to mate every second minute of the day, it is not lying awake at night imagining that she is kissing every cranny of your body. That is just being 'in love,' which any fool can do. Love itself is what is left over when being in love has burned away, and this is both an art and a fortunate accident. What will you do when the fire has qwelled and the smoke fades?
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