Souls..(A confession).

Chapter five..Hearts..

‘Farewell Ye Mountains’ (1861) by Luigi Bianchi.

“They settled the question, by deciding that misfortunes most commonly happen to us from our own misconduct or imprudence; but sometimes from causes independent of ourselves; that the most innocent and prudent conduct cannot always preserve us from them; and that, whether they arise from our own fault or not, trust in God softens them, and renders them useful in preparing us for a better life. Although this was said by poor peasants, it appears to us so just, that we offer it here as the moral of our story.” (Final paragraph of “The Betrothed” by Alessandro Manzoni).

Chapter 5.

And so thirty years passed.

Thirty years..without sight nor sound of her person or her name. That is not to say I had forgotten about her or the feelings I had for her…They lay dormant but strong in my memory..and I would sometimes go to the internet to seek her name and any attachment she was connected to..but there never was any that I could find..mind you, I had my own life living out in front of me that demanded close attention so I was not that idle as to spend too much time dwelling on past events..

There was a time, I admit, at the height of our closeness…a clumsy word that..closeness…but Kate was always a nun devoted to her order and at beck and call to her superiors..and they, in turn were not a tyrannical administration..they supervised and took general care with their sisters..and while Kate and I were close in affection to each other, there was this higher plane that governed her life…and if there was a time in my fantasies that I wondered if I should approach Kate with an offer of joining in a relationship and court her like a woman should be courted..well, the security, friends, opportunity that she had with the holy orders and within the church proper were of such quality and quantity, I felt I could never measure up to being able to offer any life outside that order that could match what she had…and I then was not that confident, judging by my marriage failure after such a promising start, that any love I could offer would not fade and be lost..a thing with Kate I did not dare to risk.

“Why the doubt?” I hear you ask..well, as I wrote in an earlier piece, the doubt was in my own heart..I could love well enough, but was it an enduring love, or was it just a passing affection..a want for what I could not have..a lust for the elusive soul, a temporary thing unworthy of any long lasting relationship..for those were the days of facile words and promises..throwaway sentences and jargon..disposable philosophy resting on printed words in trashy paperbacks from fly-by-night gurus..so yes…I doubted my own depth of feelings and that was no way to commit to a relationship with someone I was inordinately fond of.

Love is an Equation. ( Song ).

With every new friendship, and all its entice,

Love doesn’t decrease at all, it just multiplies,

With every passing of breath, in that ending demise,

Life doesn’t cease at all ; it’s just a compromise.

(chorus)

Love is an equation,

A moment of sudden elation,

The pause before persuasion.

A catch of breath before it calls.

*

When we fall again in love, even not young at all,

We be as youthful lovers, when love it comes to call,

And it may be many reasons, and maybe any cause,

The hunger it never ceases, it’s just a long, lonely pause.

(chorus)

For love it is an equation,

A moment of sudden elation,

The pause before persuasion.

A catch of breath before it calls.

*

If we are waiting answers, like a train before it calls,

We could be waiting forever, like a spoiled expectant fool,

For love it gives no reason, allows no compromise,

It gives and takes at leisure, its own delightful surprise.

(chorus)

Love is an equation,

A shock of sudden elation,

The halt before persuasion.

A catch of breath when it falls.

*

So park yourself in silence, hold your faith in resistance,

Give no quarter in assistance, no part of you in resilience,

Take what is offered freely, and beg no more greedily,

For all that is given to you, could as easily be taken away.

(chorus)

For love it is an equation,

An intense of fulfilling elation,

The silence before persuasion.

A catch of breath before it calls.

*

With once the coming of love, she can be a cruel mistress,

On every kiss she lays a price, every embrace measured,

But surely ‘twould be against the wish of God or of Goddess,

To turn such a gift from our door, spurn love’s touch treasured.

(chorus)

For love it is an equation,

A moment of sudden elation,

The pause before persuasion.

A catch of breath before it falls.

*

With every new relationship, and all that it implies,

Love doesn’t decrease at all, it just multiplies,

With the passing of a final breath, in our ending demise,

Love, it doesn’t cease at all; just a forever compromise.

****

As a young man, I grew up with no examples of how one loved another person..sure, I was indoctrinated in my primary education in the Catholic convent school I attended, but that was not love for humanity , but rather for the “love of God”. This indoctrination to have the subtle and fragile mind of the child yield their reason to give unconditional love to God was the means those Jesuits would brag ; “Give me the child until he is seven and I will have him [or show you the man] for the rest of his life”…for in that strict and unforgiving demand of unconditional love for God or Jesus, there is no room allowed to love another ABOVE God or Jesus..to do so would be a heresy..to do less would be a blasphemy.

So our ideal of love for another person is corrupted by a niggling guilt that you have abandoned the rock of your taught faith..and while that may seem an irrelevant obstacle to a non-catholic, it can be a major hurdle to those “of the faith” who would seek such passion in the arms of a lover..and then that passion becomes a sin…the resulting sexual passion becomes an obscenity deprecated in those unmarried or casually connected.

Flirting with the Ladies.

Of course we men flirt with the ladies,

And why should we not try,

Does not the honey bee flirt with the flowers,

Does not the hummingbird flirt with the sky?

Mark the loquacious mopoke, with its subtle lover’s song,

And what of the curdling howl, of a dingo all night long?

And of the wide, vast, expanse of ocean,

With its currents, deep waters and lagoons,

Does it not reflect the sensuous glory,

Of a brilliance of shine from the moon?

So leave us please sing our love songs,

To our Helen or Kate or Kim Soon,

With all the passion and hunger,

Of a wild beast’s mating croon.

We are but singing as a loving swain,

Serenading to the women, mostly in vain,

Attracting attention in our exaggerating swoon,

Under a new and full, September Moon.

So of course, we will flirt with the ladies,

Indeed, damn us if we don’t always try,

Tempting them with poetry or high dinner,

Tempting them…with a flirtatious twinkle in our eye!

Now, at such an advanced age, I am again pressed to ask myself what is the meaning of my love, for it was with a sudden elation that I once again came to find and rediscover the affection I felt for Kate…for with a carefree, casual typing in of her name on a search engine on the internet, there it was!..Kate was once more back in the same state and capital city that I was in..although at a considerable distance from me, still only a telephone call away..and I had her phone number…It was with trepidation that I made that call..for thirty years had passed since our goodbye..would she even remember me?…Would her health be good?..would she be bothered to talk to me since so much water had passed under that small bridge over The Swaine back in the village of our meeting?

I confess to pausing before I made that call..for myself had gone through so much in both desires and relationships since that first marriage..I had moved several times since the divorce..burned many bridges…lost so much materially till I was reduced to a level of survival finances.So I was not the confident, young carpenter that embraced Kate in that sad goodbye so many years ago.

But it was a false worry, for as soon as I heard Kate’s voice..of tone and tempo sweet that hadn’t changed one iota from the memory I had all those years ago, I had no qualms about what or how I would say things to her..and I have to happily report that she reciprocated in her most delightful way..so be prepared, dear reader..this is not going to be a sad compromise, nor a tragic closure, but rather an awakening of two souls rediscovering that love, not lost, but rather parted from each other’s hearts.

Kate was still a nun in both spirit and deed, she worked within the restraints of her order with still the same level of dedication..a situation I neither frowned upon nor regretted, for it gave her a status of high integrity and devoted spirituality I still envied. And while I once would proudly…perhaps even boastfully proclaim myself a “Rational Atheist”..I have come to need to revise that wilful opinion to a more ameliorated philosophy that allows the inclusion of what can be for many a comforting and reassuring spiritual identity..no longer do I see “God” as an actual physical presence, but rather as a entity created within one’s own ego and as necessary as any social or political ideal that carries one’s beliefs through life with certainty and purpose..

Kate had both faith as a believer in the Godhead, and as spirit of her own purpose in life..

Myself?…I have firm beliefs that could be construed more to the Pagan side of the known Gods..a belief in the strange and chancy vicissitudes of fate..that while I would not give crude offerings or prayers, I do see the need to watch for the mischievous acts of the God;  Tyche, the arbitrator of luck or fortune or the stalking furtiveness of Nemesis..and in the end, I have found that in many cases, the best one can do is to do nothing…just be, like the proverbial “Yossarian” in that marvellous book of absurdity; “Catch 22”.. ready to JUMP!..

For any solution to Kate and Mine fateful direction, I say this prayer to Aphrodite..:

Sacred Heart.

It is written that God is a jealous God,

But would he envious be if I serenade thee?

For thou is given as one of his “brides”,

Yet would he deny us a secret covent of desire,

Better surely should he look down and smile,

For himself has ordained that man to woman be one,

And if I cannot sing my songs of love to you,

What measure of achievement be his deeds done,

What measure of compassion be his wisdom,

To deny one so lesser the simple joy of admiring you,

Let your soul be his, for so it is destined to be,

But when evening settles it debt, let thy heart belong to me,

Let Aphrodite direct instead these lovers’ desires,

So that when we come to the end of our time,

The innocence of intent, the purity of passion spent..

Such enduring joy of what was yours, what was mine,

Let this elation of heart’s desire, be lift’d to a height sublime.

We, the two of us, have no other reason to continue to hold company with ourselves other than this mutual affection..I can claim that with confidence because now, in my older age, I have no need to feel dependent on another’s reciprocating love or approval..Old age gives one the personal implements gained over a long-lived life to state a position confidently and to hell with any other opinion!…not that one is totally dismissive of such opinions, it is just that when one reaches that number of years that give at least hint of one’s personal “end of days”, one becomes fed up with toe another’s line of reasoning and conclusion..to hell with them!

So Kate and I would communicate in our own personal yet platonic way…we saw no need to but irregularly see or touch each other in gentle hug or sweet smooch in greeting…all our passion we contained within a holding look or a holding of hands..

 A gentle touch.

She slipped off her velvet glove,
One delicate finger-tip at a time,
Once this obstruction was thence removed,
She lay her hand in mine.
I tender-touched her whitened palm,
Made note of the softness of her skin,
A sign I pondered in my conscious mind,
Of the lady’s gentleness within.
It felt that this one small action of her hand,
Gave cause in gentle touch, all that was in demand,
All that was wanted and needed,
Between the woman and the man.
For the intimacy of love need not be ordained,
By a passionate embrace between a woman and a man,
Enough for love to be built on a tender touch,
Of a lover’s offered hand.

Romantic love.. Do we even know what it means anymore?  And if we did, how many of us would be willing to “throw it all over”..our whole lives.. on a whim of passionate emotion…I mean, now that we are all aware and sophisticated and have example and warning of just where such reckless action could lead one?..Seriously, ask yourself if you would throw yourself into the arms of another with reckless abandon these days of economic, material and social individualism?

I found this little bit of doggerel in a letter written by a young woman back in the war (2^nd WW) years giving flight to her desire to secretly see her boyfriend and as it turned out; future husband who was a woodcutter near the Murray River.

. . . “Now I am free..

Off through the scrub I run,

Where sheep tracks only are seen,

Nothing but bush and sun.

Till all of a sudden I come

Out where an axe swings free

Cutting for love and money,

The axe bites deep in a tree.

Then the owner looks up of a sudden,

And gives me a happy smile

And says I hoped you would come,

And I stay there .. quite a while. “

The words themselves give clue to both the hunger for a lovers company and the chance for a future that only young love could be so certain was a possibility…; “ Cutting for love and money”.. What would a timber cutter’s wages be and what future for one of such qualification?.. Where would such an adult find reassurance in such a relationship…a relationship with the financial support of a labourer’s qualifications? We’ve all seen the end results of low income, low housing and child support capabilities..and it’s not nice…who would seek it?

And then there’s the other end of the spectrum where a person in secure financial circumstances, has purchased property and is getting on with a good career and then they have to consider whether it is wise to bring another person into their life and home and risk having to pay over half the property if something goes wrong further down the line a little…It’s all a bit too much, really.

So where does love come into this picture of modern social sophistication?

Where now for the naïve young girl running through the scrub to meet her lover, marry, start a family together?

What has love to barter with against the considerations of an ultra-modern, materialist lifestyle?

Who needs or wants it?..

Where to for the “Wuthering Heights” ; Catherines and Heathcliffs of our post-modern world? The Romeos and Juliets? That younger you or I? In a world of “Celebrity Meet-n-Marry” Bachelor/ette on the wide-screen plasma tv’s, or type-face to type-face on some dating app on the mobile phone, there would appear to be little taste for chance and that “love at first sight” infatuation, let alone to go rushing off to another’s arms “bare-footed and open-hearted”.

So what has become of us that we have grown so cynical and hard of heart? I have heard some state quite categorically that having found “contentment with their choice” (of “partner”), they would rather all people now ignored the fact even of their obvious gender….a seeking of the invisible…beyond either desire from others or ( perhaps?) the temptation of themselves FOR another. Our sophistication has made us feel secure in our pride of conquest over even our sensual emotions to a point where some seek  psychological emasculation of any sexual hunger…a ultra modern world of T.S.Eliot’s ; “J. Alfred Prufrock”..:

“The unpleasant modern world is where “Prufrock” begins. Prufrock, much like da Montefeltro in The Inferno, is confined to Hell; Prufrock’s, however, is on earth, in a lonely, alienating city. The images of the city are sterile and deathly; the night sky looks “Like a patient etherized upon a table” , while down below barren “half-deserted streets”  reveal “one-night cheap hotels / And sawdust restaurants” . The use of enjambment, the running over of lines, further conveys the labyrinthine spatiality of the city. Although Eliot does not explore the sterility of the modern world as deeply here as he does in “The Wasteland” (1922), the images are undeniably bleak and empty. . . “

The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock. (T. S. Eliot)

“Let us go then, you and I,

When the evening is spread out against the sky,

Like a patient etherized upon a table;

Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,

The muttering retreats

Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels

And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells:

Streets that follow like a tedious argument

Of insidious intent

To lead you to an overwhelming question . . .

Oh, do not ask, “What is it?”

Let us go and make our visit.

In the room the women come and go

Talking of Michelangelo. . .”

Do we seek love or social redress for perceived distress..Is there justice for the bereaved or the deceived?… Perhaps today’s love can be measured in the many brilliant facets of an engagement ring diamond, or the number of ensuites in a split-level estate house within a gated community…but does it “sing”……….does it sing like the lover’s hearts when again they meet?

I think we make a grave mistake going down the path of blaming and accusing either gender of exacerbating aggression and violence in male / female relationships. Certainly men are the more violent and certainly men have fallen further into the abyss of loss of self-esteem in both work identity and family support capability..with both parties in the relationship now needing to hold down two and sometimes more jobs to pay the bills…and there may be the answer to this hardening of the hearts..There may be the enemy who is obvious but cannot be seen, is both instigator and saviour, provocateur and provider…the “passive / agressive” complicit party.. a capital based economy.

Not world wars, neither disease or plague or natural disaster .. all these have gone before at times when humanity was still so vulnerable .. when we were still small tribes wandering from water-hole to hunting ground to shelter just to stay alive .. and we did .. and we did because of one central desire .. : a desire to be a part of other’s lives … a loved one, a special one within the tribe itself  perhaps.. within the shelter of the tribe as a whole .. that other one who shared our particular / idiosyncratic liking for a particular fruit or woven style of cloth or place of refuge over all others .. that someone special that would in times more conducive to individual preference develop into a love and regardless if it can be fulfilled in the interests of tribal custom or culture … these days call it ethnic group or social structure or creed … regardless if it is never consummated in a relationship, still the embryonic desire will develop in the imagination till it reaches a kind of fruition in the hidden senses and is held to one’s heart in secret conspiracy and there it is stored and adored.

There are moments many of us live through in our lives that can give such emotional pleasure and personal joy that they are held in deepest secrecy and must never be revealed except perhaps .. and that is a big “perhaps” .. at point of death. For to release such a secret of one’s deepest personality is equal to destroying the base belief in a personal future. The fate for those partners who seek or demand that such be revealed to them can be the unforeseen ruination of the current relationship.

After all..we all fail the perfection test..that marketeers yardstick that seems to have grabbed the imagination of a whole generation and demands adherence from both genders to a physique, financial position and psychology absolute that is impossible to satisfy…resulting in the social chaos we hear about everyday in the news columns and airwaves. And I have to confess that it is the men who are most losing the plot on this platform of perfection…our masculinity being converted to a kind of perfumery counter of scents and washes that have debased our manhood and turned us into satyrs and sadists..our capacity of once serious working men of skill and calibre turned with this so-called “gig-economy” into part-time pantomime producers of silly bibs and bobs in jobs not worth a sphincter full of snow!

And they wonder why we go spare!..This is no argument between the rights of the genders, THAT is a secondary problem…The male argument is between ourselves and the managers of Capital…Thankfully, I am of an age where I no longer have to fight mammon for my measly mouthful..but I still recall those days when a fulltime job was shared with working till dark..and beyond..hand-building the family home…HOMES…then making my way back to a rented house to attend to the fatherly/husbandly duties…but feeling that nice, tired feeling of self-respect for doing what needed to be done for the family even with a worker’s wage…But now I see this younger generation being manipulated in and out of crappy jobs with piss-weak pay and conditions and no hope of creating that “family environment” around either themselves, their loved ones or the community…..A lost generation.

And it is not just us men who will lose it…Women; ask yourself this : Do you think, after your men have been milked to the last drop of their blood, sweat and tears and those neo-liberal economic commodifiers have finished with us… you will be spared?…..Not a bloody hope!…and of course we will ALL be offered that universal panacea of bliss and happiness..: the “career”…of shit jobs in the false haven of the “gig-economy”..that petty bourgeois cure-all that replaces all things humanism with gratuitous materialism!

Our hearts have been hollowed out like a gouged stone.

And they wonder why they go spare?

Jacta alia est.

Jacta alia est..; The die it is cast.

Caesar quietly mumbles the words,

Mixed with the tumbling Rubicon’s waters,

And when he whispers his secret,

Who does he direct his knowledge to?

What lines do the poets place on page?

Is there those who will like the rhyme,

But curse the metre?

Will like the notion,

But curse the action?

Jacta alia est..; The die it is cast.

But there is no-one left

Who knows what chance is.

None want to take the risk.

So he says it quietly..under-breath,

And leads the dumb and blind

On to their deserved death.

When Kate and I entered into our own private world of talking one-on-one, either face to face over the phone or by messaging, we have contact with the gentle holding of hands, and that is all we need…oh, I may desire those urgings that are natural between a man and a woman, but such desire has to be held captive within our own personal, individual obligations to those we have made social and conscience contract with…One may desire, but one cannot WANT..

All these reminisces and commentaries are of me, from me and only by me..I make these statements off my own bat…with mu own judgement…let Kate tell you her own story if she will..for I need not seek affirmation for my love and affection for her…as I have written earlier..I am satisfied with my own feelings, I owe no debt nor dependency to another if and when I fall in love, for it is MY LOVE that I express..MY affections that I offer..and with that I come satisfied in myself in what I have now to give..it can be taken and welcomed in the spirit it is given and if reciprocated, such equal love and affection will be honestly and happily received to my heart.

So where does a love like we have for each other go?..No..that is the wrong question, if even a question need be asked, for our respective ages will dictate some of the direction we go to from here, with the inevitable hidden but certain health issues that accompany aging, we will continue with the sensual delight in just knowing the other is there in heart and mind and will remain for the duration of our lives on this earth..we will seek out each other and re-ignite on every greeting that affection that was born over the little bridge on The Swaine back more than thirty years ago..we will re-ignite and let glow with tender touch, with soft touch of lips and warm embrace in those times we are able to meet..

We will do that now and forever….Amen.

 Time.

Time has it’s own beauty,

Patience to blunt the serrated,

Razor’d, edge of a shard of flint,

Ameliorate a Panther’s eye its ferocious glint,

Give reason to consider it underrated.

*

Time will soften the heartless blow,

Levelled by one who should better know..

Soften the scorn of that baleful scowl,

Give good reason to think better now?

Time has its own beauty..we must allow.

*

Tho’ pointless to plead hopeless case,

When torn from love’s warm embrace,

Heart rendered and broken anyhow,

Better to leave it rest a while,

Let kind Time balm a fevered brow.

*

Yes…

*

Time has a beauty of its own,

Give to or take from great renown,

Favour for those would need respite,

To reflect upon events in the dark of night..

Who made wrong against what is right..

Time’s patient understanding will trip the light.