The Veterinarian – Love versus Sex 21

     Consistently applied to any situation, love always gains. It is an empirical fact. Love is the best policy. The best not only in regard to those loved, but also in regard to the one who loves. For love is self-energizing. Produces the means whereby its policy can be carried out. In order to go on loving, one needs patience, courage, endurance. But the process of loving generates these means to its own continuance. Love gains because, for the sake of that which is loved, the lover is patient and brave.

     And what is loved? Goodness and the potentialities for goodness in all human beings—even those most busily engaged in refusing to actualize those potentialities for goodness in relation to the lover himself. If sufficiently great, love can cast out the fear even of malevolently active enemies.

Eyeless in Gaza
Huxley      1936

Cribb Comment: Of course, I buy the argument. I think my conviction of such is overtly obvious. That does not mean that I don’t get weak and pity myself sometimes in a selfish tantrum. It does not mean that I do not desire the same “argument” to be applied to myself through others. And there are most likely reasonable boundaries you should not trespass against yourself in applying this argument; in particular, I refer to self harm. But a paradox then consumes my mind. Was Christ wrong when he let them drive those stakes through his extremities? Sounds like self harm to me. In truth and blasphemy, I suppose, I sometimes wonder if Christ didn’t choose “suicide” because he thought it was impossible to make a difference otherwise. You speak and you write, and very few listen. Even fewer, then think and apply. Perhaps, Christ was too depressed with the world’s reception of his simple message and could not stand to exist in a realm of such willing emptiness and ignorance. I think it odd, that I know most definitely, that I could have this conversation (about love in general and my thoughts of such) with Christ himself, as well as Huxley, and a few more of my deceased literary friends, in great savoring detail, and yet, it is almost damn near impossible to converse about the topic or apply such behavior to present day relationships and conversation. I either scare the hell out of people or they assume I am a charlatan or they just can’t even begin to understand my message and behavior (and yes, it is a simple message). “How can I say such things of passion and feeling and comfort, when I don’t really know them?”…”I am everything they have ever been looking for their entire lifetime, but they are just not ready” … I am accused of being a cheater for six consecutive months (completely erroneous), but it is the accuser who turns out to be the liar and the cheater… and on and on it goes.

Why is it so alien, so disturbing, and so unbelievable that I conceive of your beauty through intuition and perception? Why is it so harmful to care and be passionately involved in conversation and simple friendship? Why does everyone seem to prefer numbness and distraction to sensation and focus? Why is it so damn bad to say what you mean and mean what you say? Is that not the language of love? 

Cribb      2012

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