Every person dead, alive or stuck somewhere in between has fallen in love.
This is my tribute to that part of everybody’s life which is more often than always misjudged, misused or even misspelt.
This post is exclusively for love blossoming.
The beginning of what ‘many’ call disaster.
Well, I don’t know of any big names among the ‘many’ but I do know many big names among those who disagree with these ‘many’.
Shakespeare wrote: Journey's end in lovers’ meeting.
I always wondered if this was romantic or not.
But now I know – for sure.
(NOTE: If you have not read the previous post this will make absolutely no sense to you.
It will have the same effect as reading utter nonsense.
And in an era such as this, when sense is very often rebuked as nonsense, I will allow no such atrocity to be committed to what I have to say/type out.
So please refrain from reading ahead if you have not read or have not understood or have not been enlightened by the previous post.
Thank you for your co-operation.
Have a nice day, unenlightened one.)
Life is a journey, as I have mentioned before – steps which I am sure lead us to the wonderful nowhere. If the journey of life ended in lovers’ meeting that would mean that love actually leads us to nowhere or rather love is nowhere.
This leads to the one and only conclusion:
Nowhere is utopia and that is where love is;
Love is utopia which is nowhere.
Is that romantic?
I think so.
Romance always has a pinch of tragedy in it (pun intended).
The tragedy here is, of course, that nowhere is not anywhere.
Love blossoms, ah yes! Like a flower it does blossom.
The question is where does it blossom?
Let us begin with: Love is blind.
Ever wondered why Shakespeare wrote in Merchant of Venice: Love is blind?
No offence to Shakespeare - a man I believe understood human emotions in all its worth - but honestly, I do not think he was enlightened enough to realise the connection between nowhere and love, yet he did write something so wonderfully apt that it is being mentioned here.
Did that actually sound like I am greater than Shakespeare?
I certainly hope so.
He writes about how lovers do not see wrongs in themselves when he writes Love is blind.
What terrible wrongs?
Wrongs that have blossomed in minds – yours, his, and everyone’s but mine.
Our minds which make us believe we are in love.
Love is a belief.
Love is after all, only a belief of well being.
The belief of well being that all fools try so hard to find but do not realize is a terrible wrong of their shallow minds.
Love is a belief that blossoms in your mind, for which you might sacrifice your only journey of life to the wonderful nowhere.
And hence again what Shakespeare wrote:
Journey's end in lovers’ meeting
– The ultimate sacrifice.
Is this game your shallow mind plays on you worth it?
Is it worth the haunting memories and the taunting dreams?
It is after all just a feeling of well being.
A feeling of well being just a humongous breakfast away.
Love shall continue…