A letter to a lost love

I am not fully convinced that this writing must be here, so I oped for it a new thread, I hope it is ok.

Oh, and excuse me for my poor language in advance, if anyone is willing to read it:)

I would like the same as Sartre: rid me of words that has been spoken by others a thousand times as they are contaminated by consciences unclean! Give me my own words, you see?! Because I hate sometimes to say “love”, or even that I have to hate saying it.

Give me new sounds, new signs, let me change myself into a language, so clean so transparent, yet so different. Let me be able to use whole new comparisons to things yet seen. Let me dig deep in yourself, I sense there is a key, to open a book of a future tongue. Let us begin to read each other like we were born in every second anew, let us understand the signs of time, the rhythm of our existence, let us not translate the landscape which appears to us with something known to others. Let the spider of the already-given just build its web outside what we are to each other.
You say you have friends, people who cares, who are sensitive for thy own good, but might this be just the noise you need for covering the silence? Time goes slowly by as people do, they always go by, making terrible noises, gossiping great-old words, it seems so friendly, so eternal of their kind. But I must ask a thousand questions whenever they states those things, they just been caught by their rushing speed, they use words they never bothered to understand.

Silence is the name they fear the most, emptiness is the rule they follow, emptiness behind the veils of their words. Needs meets needs and in time so short, they call that friendship, for they need a real friend: used words of forgotten meaning. They have no courage to try to forge the language of their own. And you…what about you? You said sometimes I am uncomfortable, too heavy…as it is, I am. Heavy as hard it is to find the proper words to the proper feelings when you do not want yours be mixed with the filth of those overused ones. Uncomfortable as I am, because I had learnt friends are not for comfort, but for awakening, reopening and understanding, each of which are not easy the less. But of course, I know I am lacking the right to put you through this ordeal of searching for true and original, I have no right to make you see how far usually we are from knowing ourselves and others through this foggy maze of the already-made web of names. But even if I remain silent as my words fall prey to paradoxical nonsense. Maybe emphasizing the unreal, the real gets just more visible. I just keep saying them anyway, like a mantra, maybe to myself, only to justify my ways. There has been a long time since I met you, and yet I do not seem to know you at all, that is maybe because of those shields you use against my roentgen-rays. Your ever-so-familiar silence as I am speaking, trying to break the words to put them together anew, afresh, real. And the words you sometimes use as solidly as they seem. You hide from me so effective, so perfect, yet even like this, I do made some advances in knowing some essentials about you.

We say we “feel” something towards each other, can not you hear the lie within these words? In what we are in, it is not an installment of two things doing a third one which close them together. This is like we would not be in a particular state of being, it is like using a common tool or something to bind us together like two sheets of paper. And further on: we say we feel “love”, and this does the bidding. Well, I would very much like to speak with the man who first spoke out this word to find out what was meant to mean. There is happening something fundamental to our being, a change of our ontological self-understanding, and all we can say is: love is happening to us? Well even like this “love is happening” is something more to think about, then that stupid phrase: we feel love, you feel love, I feel love, two loves directed in opposite directions, as they are happening to meet – let us say in a halfway – and form a pathetic excuse of a term: “loving relationship”. Do you think, when “love” happens we stay “related” to each other, like two windowless monads? I do not think so, oh no. Oppositely: we cease to be two of a totally different beings, this so called “relation” is rather a kind of fusion, a kind of birth, rebirth,… or maybe only my fantasy played tricks on me. Or did you forget the Being? You know, that one which lives between the distance of our separate physical locations? You see, I did not forget those naïve probes to find a new kind of perception of what we truly became. I miss those times of living poetry, when we dared to forge a separate world.

Now you seem backing out of that realm, it may be too frightening for the careless. Now you have turned thy face to the world of strict forms, to the normally conceived, stabile order of things, you name reality. Now, maybe that was only my world, I created for you, and thus now you ought to break free from the chains of my imagination which held you from initiating thy own perception. Thus you find now the commonly perceived world of the common sense a new sensation. Where people with true and honest intentions are surrounding you, they call themselves your friend, and you give them strength in this sentence by holding the same. Well it is true and clear that I am nobody to judge the degree of reality involved in there, and I am not doing that. I am not judging your perceptions. Although I am saying a version of my own. I believe that friendship as it occurs sometimes it is a rare kind of happening. If somebody really would have a friend that should be very, very limited in quantity. I mean it might happen, there is only one in a lifetime if there it is at all. People are so short-sighted when they call a tornado the end of the world, when they call a vision an angel, or when they call a pall a friend. I think one could have a dozen of palls and still have no friends at all, but as in the examples above, we have an urge to euphemize our surroundings, and such name the best palls friends. And as it is, sometimes naming a thing for our own it seems to penetrate the barriers of ontological becoming and create a personified reality: a reality we would like to have. This is the most usual behavior of mind, it completes the actual reality with missing details, forms…it reflects itself, it emanates itself out onto the reality re-perceiving it at last as something being there untouched, objective as a rock. I know it is possible to say that I am writing all of this nonsense only to justify my lack of friends, to rationalize the ill situation in which I lent myself: being miserably alone and rejected.

This might be the whole of the truth, may I also point out: I even hope so a bit. My usual “truths” seems to hurt so many people “feelings”. People deny my truths on basis of their vitality perhaps, life cannot accept no facts as true if those are against it, and nor does the living. Thus came to be, that I and my truths in a pack became a zombie, a bunch of living-dead. My search and obsession for truth led me to shores of depression, denial and a missionary behavior. Well in my case I became a missionary of despair, a missionary of a subhuman truth, truths better be hidden before the eyes of the living. My search for authentic share of personal experiences led me to the denial of words without substitute. And despise my true motivations here I am as enemy of your conceptions about friendship, love and devotion. As I begun to understand the true nature of my past “friendships” I slowly begun to retreat from them, I felt I do not need false comforts, I do not need to be needed only for a transaction of needs, I thought in that way I will be enough for myself, and yet you where there and I never attempted to retire from that one. No, I thought we are a case of real friendship and more (I never believed in that crap that lovers cannot be friends, I always held the opposite of this: only on the basis of a very strong and affectionate friendship rises the adequate affection, the power of that kind of rebirth). And look at us now: you need friends, you name a dozen of different friends swarming around you. And you even threaten me: beware ruining my friendships! And such you gave birth to secrets around yourself I am not allowed to peek in, in the name of the holy right of a different person…such crude and concrete reality! And yet there were times we had no secrets…perhaps that closeness was not a unity but on its way towards one…I sense like when you came too close, the heat of that closeness (and the seriousness, heaviness of it) burnt your soul and you have been crying out for release, for a reexamination of thy individuality, and such begun a differentiation, a slow departure (and this movement needs some sacred places to close the way backwards). When you will be far enough away from that closeness , then you shall begin to shiver, for there is a coldness in it. And then there shall rise in yourself a new need for a closeness, because all those elements implemented against loosing your ego (the fear of a rebirth), then shall be your own barriers of returning to a closeness. Maybe the distance which you still seem to wish to increase will make sure you get loose of me forever. Not a big deal, do not worry, nothing special at the end, just maybe, maybe you would not be able to reach that close again to anybody again. Not all the things are reversible, nor replaceable. It always happens: too close and burn, too distant and shiver from the cold…maybe our generation is not fit to bear none of these extremes. But on my part I believe in these extremes, they seem authentic to me through all this swamp of comfortable lies.