i vous voulez et vous seul

˙˙˙ snoʌ
ɹnoɯɐ,l ǝp ʇǝ xnǝʌ ǝɾ ǝnb ınlǝɔ ʇsǝ,ɔ 'lnǝs snoʌ ʇǝ snoʌ
ǝɯâ uoɯ ǝɔɹǝd ınb xnǝʎ soʌ ʇǝ snoʌ
ʎɐʍs élǝddɐ uosuɐɥɔ ǝʇʇǝɔ ɹǝɔuɐlɐq ǝp ǝɹıoɯéɯ ɐl ǝnb ʇǝ sdɹoɔ ǝɹʇoʌ ǝp ǝɹpɐɔ ǝl ʇǝ snoʌ
suıɐɹʇ sǝl ʇǝ sɹǝılɐɔsǝ sǝl 'snqoʇnɐ xnɐ nɐǝʌnou suǝs un éuuop ɐ ınb ɹǝsıɐq ǝɹʇoʌ ʇǝ snoʌ
ǝɹʌıʌ à ǝƃɐɹnoɔuǝ,ɯ ınb ǝɹıɹnos ǝɹʇoʌ ʇǝ snoʌ
ǝıʌ ɐɯ ʇǝ uosuɐɥɔ ɐl à suǝs un éuuop ɐ snoʌ ʇuǝɯɯoɔ ʇǝ snoʌ
ʇıɐɟɹɐd ʇsǝ ǝpuoɯ ǝl ǝnb ǝlqɯǝs lı ʇǝ 'zǝıɹnos snoʌ
˙˙˙ snoʌ

Frederick Buechner on love and gender orientation

I've been wanting to post this here for a while now, but it just seems that there are a lot of things to do, and better topics to blog about.

Nevertheless, I decided to re-post this piece from Frederick Buechner's Whistling in the Dark: An ABC Theologized, in his entry on the word --Homosexual he writes:

One of the many ways that we are attracted to each other is sexually. We want to touch and be touched. We want to give and receive pleasure with our bodies. We want to know each other in our full nakedness, which is to say in our full humanness, and in the moment of passion to become one with each other. Whether it is our own gender or the other that we are chiefly attracted to seems a secondary matter. There is a female element in every male just as there is a male element in every female, and most people if they're honest will acknowledge having been at one time or another attracted to both.

bane

Love is this bane messed up sense of strong affection and attachment to the one that I cannot be with, for so many reasons that I cannot fathom.

I hate myself for being honest with what I feel.

I hate myself for clinging onto a ghost of a good thing.

As Sinatra once sang in his satirical take on the subject, we spoil good things by saying those three stupid words: “I love you.”

If only saying it is as simple as expressing gratitude to a wonderful meal, a lovely day or a favour rendered.

No reality is crueler than our imaginations because this entails an experience felt by a person for another person. Therefore it involves caring for or identifying with the object of your affection.

It is not convenient. It entails memories both good and bad. It takes us out of our comfort zones, it brings us fuller to our humanity than we can ever imagine. It incites desires. It fuels passion. It releases the devil in our emotions and the goodness in our beings. It stings as death. Its breath brings life. It confers choices. It bears consequences. It gives joy. It inflicts pain.

If only words are as simple as life…

cras amet qui nunquam amavit; quique amavit, cras amet

Pain.
Such must be the language of love.
There was this line in this movie that I know that says:
“Isn't everything we do in life a way to be loved a little more? 1”
As much as I hate to admit it there is truth in that
But the problem lies in the idea of love itself.
Is love really about that of feeling that we are loved?
Or is it about the idea of getting way past the point of caring
whether we are loved or not?
Love hurts that much is obvious.
But what is life without pain anyway?
And what is love good for if it is only something we desire from the other?
It is indeed a perpetual struggle to want to be loved.
And yet to discover that the one we love would be happier, better off without us
Or even longing for love from another…
Perhaps to say: “I love you”
Really means: “You’re free as far as my desire for finding my personal completion in you is concerned…”
If that is the case...
...Then it is no wonder that “the Cross is the necessary contradiction of all we know in life. 2”

1. Celine (Julie Delpy), Before Sunrise (Columbia Pictures: 1995)
2. Robinson, David. Rappings (Grand Rapids: Tyndale 1971). P.47
   

pulsate

My heart beats
Albeit restlessly
3 years
1095 days
26,280 hours
157, 680 minutes
Its pace determined
By the angelic smile
Of this one
Who is so near,
And yet so far
Destiny’s humor
Choices regretted
And this coward heart
That fears…
…the unknown

anxiety

...for love is as strong as death...
Song of Songs 8:6

Needless to say no matter what I'll say or do your heart cannot be mine...

Fate seems to have this twisted humor that guts out our greatest hopes and dreams.

Why must this be too early seen unknown and known too late?

Living with the closeness of this reality of pain makes me wish that somehow I would be smitten with the surd of death --I have finally met you.

For me that is enough, for I can never go farther than being the person that I am to you now.

God knows how I want it to be like that but it seems that indeed the heart is deceitful in the midst of a flesh that's too weak to know boundaries in its desire for companionship, for the sweet kiss and empathic embrace of a fellow human being with whom in a heartbeat I would unquestioningly give my life to.

I am lonely. I am sad. I feel as though like I am dead.

And I just might as well be dead for all I care. You are there and I can't have you --or better yet I cannot give my life to you as I would hope you'd want me to.

I love you too bad I’ll never be able to say this to your face…

Helpless

I cannot help but
Hate myself now
You are there
And God knows
How much I would
Like to hold your hand
And feel your skin
Against mine
I am dying inside
I long for your embrace
I would die for your kiss
In this desire for love
That seeks to manifest itself
In a language of touching
And wanting to be touched
I reach out my hand to nothing
But the empty realization
That my heart’s deepest desire
Cannot be…