A Letter to a Lover

Beloved,

Kierkegaard said that “Life can only be understood backwards; but it must be lived forwards.” That is to say that one cannot actually live life looking backwards, since that would make him a bumbler and a sentimental klutz. For listen to the Qoheleth, “Do not say, “Why were the old days better than these?” For it is not wise to ask such questions” (Ecc 7:10); and also the Prophet, “”Forget the former things; do not dwell on the past” (Is 43:18). Yes, such trivial sentimentality is what those stuck in the past are wont to do, that is to say that have nothing to look forward to quite simply because their lives reflect their essence: boredom.

But on the contrary, we do not live life by living in the past but my living in the here and now. That is not because we are materialists or hedonists, but simply because to live in the past makes one a bumbler as was aforesaid, and to live in the future is to forego and negate any present sensation for something that has not quite arrived, and to be sure may never for some of these ridiculous diviners and dreamers! Yes, we rather live life by living it forward, tasting all the goodness that the present has to offer us, and yet we introspectively build up our future but looking to the past, but not living in it. As the priestess’ of Delphi aroused their sensation through the fanatical, so too we arouse ourselves and heighten our understanding of the future by looking to the past: for this is the key to a fulfilling life.

Ipso facto, we dive headfirst into the sea of existence knowing full well that we have a grapple on both past, present and future quite precisely because we have loosed our grip on all three, thereby letting the fullness of reality thrash us too and fro in ecstasy while others are still too busy remembering the ‘good old days’ to ever take the plunge. It is a sad state of affairs for most of humanity as they truly love to reminisce and ruminate on the ‘good old days.’ But you see, for our days were too dynamically swift to ever be considered ‘good,’ and they certainly were too suicidal to ever be considered ‘old.’

They days have run themselves into the ground rather quickly, and we do not hold that against them: for how could we? Did we not experience each other in a way that hitherto could never have been dreamed or procured by our own imaginations? Is this not proof that such a narrative could never have been written by human hands?—for it is far too absurd! Is this not infallible proof that the gods have ever and anon been on our side, not my side heretofore and neither yours, but ours, as we have come together in the most terrible and fateful way? Ah yes, Fate has slowly steadied her grip upon us and brought us thereby into the most peculiar situations where we could do nothing but scream at the top of our lungs because we knew that our wills were being superseded by that of the gods. Oh Amor Fati! So virulent and toxicly beautiful, we canst but sacrifice our best swine on the alter to Prometheus, thanking him for his kindness and charity towards us humans, and not just us humans, but you and I specifically.

It is a queer thing to close one’s eyes and pretend examine variant hypothetical outcomes to different situations. It is queer because it is vexing, and it is vexing quite precisely because it is impossible to actually change situations in reality—one can only ruminate on them, and that is all. The mind’s purpose therefore is to utilize the imagination as an instrument of comfort to the subject when the he is most powerless and least in control, which is to say when he realizes most that fate has gripped his life and its vices will never be loosened, nay, not even in eternity. It is for this reason why those who demonstrate an infinite resignation in will consequently have an infinite augmentation in imagination.

Oh how I love thee with such passion and might, such one that cannot be mine alone—for how frail and feeble am I? Nay, this power comes extra nos and is fueled even more so by the coals you continually throw on my fire. Yes, it is without a doubt that I can say that we have been fated and predestined for one another, and I mean this in the most peculiar way, my love. Do we not stand outside of existence? Do we not, both together, negate the rapid movements of life itself in a moment as time freezes and reality stands still by and by as the gods circle around us and rejoice and cajole as our eyes lock and our lips meet—yes, this is the tragedy of the century! It is tragic not in and of itself, for such a poignant pessimism would be to my chagrin, but on the contrary, it is tragic quite precisely because no one else can partake in such an event, and indeed they do not want to even if they are able to. It is for that reason alone why the gods only are our spectators, and in that regard, it is actually not tragic at all, for as time stands still and our lips meet as they are wont—and indeed fated forevermore—to do, it is quite comic: and this is something to rejoice over, for one can never trust a man who does not know how to laugh.

I can’t say more but I am propelled to do so. When but two years ago I was convinced that I should stay single for my life—indeed was convinced on the premise that all great philosophers were single, and indeed many were!—and merely devote my life to my studies as a bachelor indefinitely, there you came as you burst on the scene so young, indifferent, shy and naive. You were barely eighteen when we began our intercourse together, and I hadn’t the slightest clue of your carefully calculated plans, but to be sure, knew without a doubt that I could not taint or spoil this innocent maiden with my pessimistic grandeur, and hence must as quickly as possible rid myself from her in the cleanest and more respectable way possible. To be sure I did just that, I sent that fateful message wherein I described to you in vivid detail how we were to stop speaking forever—and oh how sneaky and deceptive I was, lying in the message so as to try and not hurt your feelings, for I cared for your feelings, your innocent, young, and untainted feelings. I could not crush them as I had heretofore done with so many others, nay, I had to protect you and cherish you, and it was for those reasons why I had to give you away.

But woe to me, and woe to you! That Fate laughed in our faces and wanted to make us suffer together, suffer knowing that we could not escape even if we tried, for we became bound together by blood, and one knows that such a relationship is the pinnacle of deals one can make with the devil. And so the story goes, as my curiosity turned into infatuation, your aesthetic appeal, warm heart, seductive words and open-ended promises lured me in without reservation, I was strung directly into your heart and you into mine. I wrote vigorously, gratuitously, and in the most poetical way possible: for I wanted you to be mine, and mine alone. Is it selfish of me? Perchance. Can I be faulted for being given the opportunity to seduce a goddess into my arms, and capture her, bind her foot in chain, and woo her with love letters for the rest of my life? Away with it! Your innocence shone brighter than the Morning Star, for it was your virtue, and also your mystery. I could not get past your subtle enigmatic seduction, for it was far too bright, and at any rate, my eye sight was far too poor. It was much better that I closed my eyes, and as the sirens seduced Odysseus with their song, sing to you with guitar in hand, and as the sunrise first peaked over the horizon, throw myself into your arms, knowing that you would give yourself wholly up to me at the first instant I asked.

It has been two years since I first saw your face; two years since I first approached with your fear and trepidation, knowing that the beginning with you would be the beginning to the end. Your beautiful eyes wooed me; your luscious plump lips drew me in; your gorgeous dark hard spoke to me; your innocence and child like trust in me spoke to me; you wanted to be loved, and you had been trampled on by the feet of men who will pay for their dues, but lo, how could I walk away from you at your time of need? It is funny how things get negated, for it was not you that needed me, young and innocent maiden, but I that needed you all along. It is a curious thing to be struck Eros, but for you on the contrary it is comic. For my disposition has been changed, and I have been humbled in the name of love, but for you, you have remained the same, always faithful, for you—unbeknownst to Eros—are the lost daughter of Aphrodite, and are therefore certainly no novice in the realm of love. Why have you struggled for so long? For you have been patiently waiting for someone to share this sacred gift with, and for reasons I will never know neither understand, you have chosen men, and for that I can but give you my very soul and pray that we will truly become one in selfless loving sacrifice: not only in the present, but in the infinite and eternal also.

For two years we wrote letters back and forth to each other as distance was the great hindrance to your daily embrace, and oh what a wretched one it was at that! Two years you sat idle in your tower waiting for you to be saved, and for two years I remained hindered by fate, unable to move to the right or to the left. Two years I poured my heart and soul out through the pen as I wrote my confessions and my love out in poetical song to you, praying you would soak up my tears and all the more desire to accept and receive my love. Two years I was bound by my own desire to honor your family as I daily went to bed in prayer, longing for your love to remain as strong for me as mine was burning or you. Two years did I daily pray to Jehovah Almighty to act on my behalf as intercessor and to bring my maiden back into my arms in loving embrace, and two years to I suffer purgatory. For the sum of the matter is this: when unbridled love is in full fury, and the object of the aforesaid remains afar, the subject is therefore subjected to purgatious torment by the gods, mocking that he was foolish enough to arouse his desire before the time was apropos. “I adjure you, O daughters of Jerusalem, that you not stir up or awaken love until it pleases” (Song 8:4).

In a few more short weeks we will be married, my love.. I can’t say, anymore, that I have been waiting two years for this, that is, to marry you. Nay, I have been waiting all my life to marry you.. For our ceremony is less of a public declaration to stay faithful—we both know we both we will remain faithful, for how could we do otherwise? But rather, it is more of a celebration of a soul finding it’s other half. You see, before Zeus split male and female into two respected entities, they were one and unified. Many scoff at the idea of marriage today simply because they either marry a half that is not their other self, or else grow weary of the search and throw their hands up in remission and thereupon give up. But, ahh, we have done neither of the aforementioned, but contrariwise, have not rested nor slept until our one soul has found it’s other half. This is why God said “it is not good for man to be alone” (Gen 2:18).

Lover

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