I newly appreciate my propensity to deny the reality of a situation. My little girl vision of love ever after is so deep, set into synaptic autopilot by a man who cared for me without end, is today challenged by the realities I have feared would come true – that we would forget how to love and be loved, that humanity would find herself lost on a barren rock, slimed with comfortable half-efforts and delusions that promises are enough.
There are parallel broken hearts all over the planet, in global politics and the culture of drug addiction. The world as humanity makes it is imploding on itself. Just like I can’t make the man I love to embrace me into his life, I can’t make a nation wake up and embrace its possibility. This leap in juxtaposition you jest is invalid, but societies are just collections of communities of people who struggle with language and their past, doing the best they can to sort out a future…. Emphasis on “people”. The ontology of the broken heart shall be recognized one day, and we will see that time does not heal all wounds, but only lets them fester when left to bleed unchecked….
The violence against ourselves is violence to all. The love we withhold from others is a reflection of the love we withhold from ourselves. To the extent withholding love is a cruelty, we are, I am, accidentally taking out my disappointment on the whole. Rolling into resentment is another expression of withholding love, and perhaps a quiet act giving rise to the violence already out of control.
Rather than slipping into that hell, which is only a thin veil away from heaven, I choose to recognize a new appreciation – the only healthy way out of this is to extend love even further, beyond the slick lonely stone. Maybe my caste net will hook onto some passing space ship, piloted by one who is also looking for someone to partner with, in appreciation.