Far and away the most misogynistic and manipulative narcissist I've ever met has recently taken up the habit of repeating the same story to me. This usually ends the conversation shortly thereafter on my part because I can almost feel the narrator's bias.
Full disclosure: this scumbag is one of my best friends and I'd be remiss to neglect some of his redeeming qualities. He's generally inspiring. Sometimes this is on purpose. Other times there's this accident that happens at the intersection of determination and teamwork where usually the result is something pretty good, pretty, pretty good. Quality is what he'd call it, though the notion in his mind and the real life result are not always identical.
Another redemptive attribute is an unrivaled ability to adapt his mind to changing circumstances. He sees the best in situations ranging from shit-shows and cluster-fucks to serene and pristine paint by number. Every one of us are at different points in life and all have the corresponding differences in points of view. All of our thoughts in boxes shuffle along the cosmic assembly line of thoughts in boxes, the imagery itself just another thought in a box. With my own notion of identity becoming less defined the better I define it, I realize there's a similar journey for all those other thoughts in boxes.
The story goes thusly:
Every one is given three great loves. The first great love is a kind of puppy love You think it's the real thing while you're in the midst of it but it ends and you realize it wasn't real. The second great love is one that teaches you how to love while simultaneously teaching you how not to love because this one ends as well. The third and final great love comes at you when you're least expecting it and it is true and wholesome.
Typically that is where he ends the story and I ask him about what happens next but recently after a few more rehearsals, he's started to add a conclusion of happily ever after. Aside from following the rule of three and being kind of interesting, the story remains largely incoherent on the surface. Why would we call a first love or first great love not real and then go on to use the same language for loves two and three. If the first love above isn't real then none of the above are real, for coherent story telling at the very least.
Yes, the second great love sounds a great deal like someone you grow to hate. I don't feel that way about anyone I've ever loved. I know on some level you have to have love for something before you can hate it but I don't have hate in my heart. I've been saying "If you have hate in your heart, let it out" for almost two decades now and have been able to practice what I preach for the better part of the last one. I can't hate that which I love because I struggle with hate. Maybe my inability to hate prevents me from understanding this modern parable.
The third love sounds like something I want to understand because I'm trying to learn not to expect. If I spend my time doing what I'm doing instead of thinking of other things while doing then I'm not doing a good job of anything. My thoughts while I work can be distracted by my work and my work while I think suffers from the lack of mindfulness.
If I have thoughts worth considering then why not consider them? If I have work worth doing then why not do it? My need to rush and rustle along with the pace I think is around me only results in messy situations because of distractions. If I instead dictate my own pace and only allow the world around to inform my actions then I am thinking and then doing. I am observing the world, determining my part, and then acting.
In no way am I saying I need things to slow down. In fact, the opposite is true when I am actively practicing mindfulness. I'm able to breathe, think, then act. It's impossible to control the outside world and it is unhealthy to react as well. Instead of reacting to the magnificence around me, why not thoughtfully respond? It provides more respect and love to the outside and, perhaps most importantly, to myself. I respect my thoughts and the thoughts and actions of others when I'm able to have considered thoughts during the silence between words instead of waiting for the next opportunity.
I also don't believe we are given any loves. God, the universe, or whatever runs the cosmos isn't going to just give anyone love. It's something too precious to be given. It needs nurtured, it needs earned, it needs to grow in the silence between words. It grows in the mindfulness between souls and is only infinitely supplied when it is given the opportunity to flourish.
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