You can never understand a thing so clearly as when it fails to be present. The shock of empty space highlights it in such a bold relief, that this very same void, those dark places at the corner of your eye illuminates its lack of self. Love, if I’m forthcoming, can be understood easily this way. We learn love like language, by eliminating what it is not, to be left with that which is still unknown, unidentified, yet fitting no other known identity, a new ideal is born. So when I embark, to write about love, my tangent should smooth along the line of what love is not.
There are simple things that are not love. The nouns of the world, and their corresponding verbs and adjectives, they are not love. They are inky representations and symbols that stand for fixed points in time and space to give meaning to our smallness in the universe. Time itself is not love, time captures and preserves our moments individually, infinitely.
Nature is not love, in any sense. The biological qualities of any given organism are just that, biological qualities, totally arbitrary traits that drive us through our existence quickly as we burn out. Love is not a book, or a fingernail, or a pygmy goat. It is not an entity with which we can interact.
Catching at smokey examples of love is a far more difficult and time-consuming venture, for even when we think of those settings which seem so utterly loveless, there is going to be someone, somewhere, who figures out a different way to look at your loveless example and can prove to the world that love was indeed a part of the equation. Therefore we must each assume responsibility for defining love for ourselves.
Love is not a bomb exploding a child’s head into the concrete behind it. Love is not mass murder or genocide against others who hold different ideals. Love is not a woman having an abortion, love is not the forcible rape of another human being. No single human being in and of themselves embody love.
The problem with love is time. Do we count love as a whole? Or does it exist in spans and moments? Is time the master of love?
We mustn’t be too serious though, that would defeat the point wouldn’t it?