...can't help it that I devour tomes like...like....oh bother, like a person who reads extremely fast.

And then I decided to listen to the soundtrack of The Ghost and Mrs Muir, which has always been one of my favourite old movies. Because, you know, I do like things where there's a lot of DEATH and LOVE and PASSION and being reunited finally beyond that border, where nothing more can harm and all pains are healed. And even, with an autumnal surge of melancholia, the ones where there is just the grave, just the monument and the shock of recognition of a name, a statue's face -- just the mortal memory, the meeting-again still around the corner, and a long stretch of life till that corner it will be, if indeed the same corner atall.

And yet..."Journeys end in lovers' meetings,/ Ev'ry wise man's son doth know." And they do...maybe that's why I've always recognised it, I've been thinking lately, especially when sharing such a loverly gutter indeed with my beloved Litharriel. Oh right, did I mention? -- soulmates do exist, as do slightly looser groups of old mates that keep turning up again like in a spread of cards. I don't believe that anything is really lost just because death happens to intervene. There are few things more illogical to my mind (let alone my own personal experience) than the materialist idea that consciousness and character simply cease to exist just because the physical body dies -- or even, taking the more religious side, that one chance at life is all that a soul ever gets as a rule, to pass or to fail. I know there's more than that. If anyone chooses to believe in less, then that's their prerogative -- doesn't mean there's actually less there, though.

But anyhow....love, death, memory, coming back.........massive massive amounts of angst.......familiar territory, that, just grown deeper with remembrance.

But pulling back from that particular angle just a little.....perhaps you've noticed it lately, perhaps not, but it's pointedly true all the same: The best fantasy isn't just something to entertain children but rather to make adults remember. Not to escape the harshness of "reality" but to confront it, to take up arms against the insanities and inhumanities of the world -- and by opposing (not-too-obviously) (help to) end them. It is, quite literally, what we "grow up on" -- rather than being kept in the dark and running in the comfortable and well-worn superstitious circles that parents and other well-meaning adults would often like to keep their youth 'safely' within. Reality is bigger than conventionality...and sometimes fantasy is far better at showing reality than reality is capable of showing itself. It slips under the radar of automatic defensiveness, angles the mirror to show more than just the subject at hand, and actually gives some reason for giving a damn without one's own life and/or liberty being directly at stake. Where we don't care, we can't change -- especially not for the better, whether in ourselves or in the state of the world and society.

We need very badly the truths and realizations that go around under the guise of "fantasy" -- the deeper and darker they're growing, the closer they get to what's really there, what has to be found in more than just bright platitudes. The measure of an authentic mythology or a fairytale does not lie in how pretty or how happy it is, but how true it is in essence. And time will tell by its sorting and sifting where the greatest truths reside, no matter how improbable the vehicle.

aureantes: Portrait bust of Alexander the Great (Default)
( Nov. 12th, 2005 02:56 am)
Your Birthdate: October 6

You tend to be a the rock in relationships - people depend on you.
Thoughtful and caring, you often put others needs first.
You aren't content to help those you know... you want to give to the world.
An idealist, you strive for positive change and dream about how much better things could be.

Your strength: Your intuition

Your weakness: You put yourself last

Your power color: Rose

Your power symbol: Cloud

Your power month: June

Um....yeah, right. Rose. Depends on what precise kind of rose, I'd say....I'm rather fond of the peach/gold sort, and perpetually attracted to the deep blood-red hue...and "dusty rose" has its appeal when coordinated with warm golds and rust and evergreen and dark mahogany--but outside of the natural bloom itself, I'm hardly likely to use any shade of PINK as a power colour....

Interesting way to try divination, though, of a sort. I got a multicoloured bouquet of roses from my mother for my birthday....and the very last two to droop and fade were a white one and the palest pink one to it. I thought that that had to mean (this was before you, my ladylove) that that was all that the future had in store for me...utterly pure agape or the chastest love of selfless romantic affection. I took that as all that I could hope to strive for in this life....but as usual, Destiny had a few tricks up her sleeve. And so, what I can read in the roses now is that those traits are strongest in myself, and will remain even after all other passions (and jealousies) are withered.

Of course, this works best with a copy of "The Language of Flowers" on hand or practically memorised in symbolism...but really, I'd say that roses are the most transparent of all to analyse. (And so would Robin McKinley, Mercedes Lackey and Jean Cocteau.....)

Hmm. And clouds....*snickers* Which puts me somewhere in the general thought-cluster of Joni Mitchell, Percy Bysshe Shelley, Annie Lennox, and whoever wrote "My Sweetheart's Like Venus"....go figure. But then, my water-manifestation is rain and thunderstorms, so....

Because it makes God/gods really fucking frustrated when they're trying to show you they love and care for you through all the worst of things but you just can't seem to take a hint, or two, or three, or a thousand signs of affection.....because it's a slap in the face of agape, philos, and eros to say you lack the guts to take it seriously, or even acknowledge the sight.

Guess I must be a megalomaniac after all, because I think that I am destined to be like a god, admired and feared and worshipped but never actually loved.  Not that I could feel that if it happened, of course--slight defect there...still, I'm not defective in ability to love, and I think I may even overcompensate there in demonstration, just because I don't want to make anyone feel the way I do and have all my life, so disconnected....I don't know, is that grace or merely some vague unnameable guilt that drives me?

I am a raging tiger, a rogue and ravenous wolf.  When pressed or piqued or wounded to the quick, I am ruthless in return, giving as good as I get or much much worse--causing pain is an instinct with me, I know it well enough.  And yet it's not my desire to hurt anyone who merely stumbles....I'm just very - efficient at doing so...the best at what I do, in unpremeditated verbal savagery.

And of course, I need attention, energy, feedback, interaction--assuming one gives a damn for my presence at all.  Otherwise I haven't the energy to "participate" positively, if no one even notices when I'm gone.  I wonder if my friends notice me as much as I notice them...or is this just a stupid musing because everyone can't help noticing me whether they like it or not?  What kind of a force do I show in the world?--what influence, what path, what pressure do I cause?  What change have I made in others, and has it been for the better or not?  I can answer these things theoretically, and yet not believe them...not believe that there is any grace in me, because someone has misunderstood me tragically, and keeps doing so, and won't even take the smallest comforts I would offer freely without fear of being unworthy or obligated beyond their means.  The gods do not want protests of worthlessness when they give gifts--they want their gifts to be accepted, used, made the most of, not ignored...there is no hidden price here, no deep-condemning deal.  Can no one believe that I want the best for them, that I can lay my own desires and needs aside like a winter cloak, can hold myself on ice while trying to make sure that they find what's right for them?  Starvation and honour go ill together, though a fine tale of chivalry they can make, relinquishing love for loyalty..........

I have no irresistible lust in my interpersonal life, no selfish urge that could make me forget and override the bounds of respect between souls.  In order to find my heart and follow it truly, strongly, passionately to possess, to claim, to make my chosen mine without restraint, I should perhaps have to become a beast in truth, that this conscience and circumspection would no longer plague me with its weight.  To quote my current line, honour's a bitch sometimes.

Assuming you think it's honour that drives me after all....




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