Saturday, February 20, 2010

There is Grandeur View in My Life

     Finishing Thus Spoke Zarathustra is what I could – not should – be doing right now, but that adds into the whole melting pot of why I’m so happy right now. How is it that I am so completely captivated by you, while the desire to still better myself for me coexists harmoniously?
     It reminds me of this cauldron at MagiQuest in Myrtle Beach. Positively alluring inside with its beauty, with a haze of fog overhead. I’m left dumbfounded, consciously half-wondering what to gaze at while my aperture focuses and refocuses on whatever it desires to capture. I have no regrets of letting go of control.
     Metaphoring this cloudiness as fog instead of smoke means more than just the pick of a word, as for the first time in my life I have never seen with such intense clarity the beauty in the world we inhabit. My eyes have become sensitive to the ultraviolet like bees, for I am seeing past the artistry of life into something I thought would forever be invisible… to me.

     The magnificence of science not only restored the lost respect I had for our sublime existence, but it plopped a bud of growth within my “heart” that grew into a fascination, a love of all things I see, feel, touch, and breathe. Something has definitely grown in my chest.
     Knowing the exact percentage of oxygen in the air swelling my lungs brings me a comfort unexplainable, “overly satisfied” being a decent beginning were I to settle upon a single one.
     I know what I’m seeing on the ground and walking with me upon it; evolution of all that is precious life. I know that my orchid Harold sitting just behind me is a long distant cousin on our grand tree of life, this is how I use “our.”
     My first love of all things existing in relation to my personal inhabitance, and now this fresh, second love of a single life I have somehow chosen but feel it has chosen me, this is how, today, I’m perceiving “there is grandeur view in this life.” And nothing has ever felt so grand.

     Funnily, it plays into my obsession with sociology. I think “he” even said somewhere being in love is just short of being obsessed. And it’s true! I don’t love sociology, I’m obsessed with it. It’s my food for thought, my conscience, my actions, my emotions, my everything by final choice. Completely embraced, it is mine.
     Uniquely, this is exactly how I feel of him. Can I shelter this by what I mentioned before? Perhaps my affection of social sciences wasn’t a sick adoration, likely I am simply no more than in love with it as I am everything he is.

     I’ve never been in love and maybe that’s why my behavior in relationships hasn’t varied too far from how I carried myself in the beginning of my “dating life” at twelve years old. Actually, up until barely a year ago, I didn’t even believe in the possibility of homo sapiens being in love. Only a mere few months ago, I wasn’t aware that being in love was provable through a glimpse into our brains, by means of science.
     It was then I truly began believing in the concept of being “in love,” past a desire for a supernatural out of body experience. And what a comfort it is to know that everything I am and feel is all secured within my physical body named “me”, waiting patiently to be explained by an explainer, or as we know them: scientists.
     Who better to research for mesearch than me? I thought I was the candidate too.


     Being in love is indescribable. It’s not as if I lack the knowledge of all lovely adjectives in my language that might pertain to the experience – although I do – it just isn’t possible for what love’s actually worth.
     With words of any language, with actions of any species, even with genetic altruism of the birds and chimpanzees, it just isn’t. If I dared attempt, I would only reach a verdict of poor justice, and I decided against law school many years ago when human behaviors first gripped my hold with a relentless fist.
     One of the conclusions I have come to thus far is this: being in love with you is the irrational fear of loss.

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