So in this, the third part of what has seemingly become an extended essay, though by default as opposed to design, I suppose some will ask why try to articulate these thoughts at all? On some reflection I suppose because it is part of a personal quest to discover, to find, to articulate some universal truths about the nature of this thing. Whilst much has been written on the subject, (an understatement if ever there was one) it still seems to me it is difficult to really pin down if these are universal beliefs or personal to each of us. And of course it all has to be chemical in the end doesnt it? We all have a similar mess of different chemicals being continuously pumped around our individual bodies, although, to an extent, in differing amounts.
And yet, for me at least, there remain unanswered questions about the nature of the soul, if indeed it exists at all, whether we all have the same capacity to love and be loved from birth or whether it changes as we grow, and what exactly the spark that ignites us is guided by, chemical, spiritual, innate, pre determined? I suppose one plausible answer might be that it occurs when the greatest number of our senses are motivated (and in the other person too if it is to be mutual). And if one is blocked does that negate the event. Of course this is one question that is answered relatively easily, for we know that people with very impaired senses (with no sight, with no hearing) can still very much fall, although it seems often this can be because their other senses become more developed.
Then there is the idea that when we are feeling particularly vulnerable, we are more attuned to the effects of these chemicals, or that the mix does certain things to our body in its chemically altered state. And then there are periods in our lives when consciously or unconsciously we find that we desire things, or we desire things we see, in others. I find it interesting that our sense of smell in particular plays such a large part in the equation but it does seem to be the way.
In my case, as an older man, when someone gives you something you crave, the vitality of youth, it is not easy to resist it. And when someone gives you something that seems to entail special effort, it is also relatively easy to first enjoy it, and then come to expect it. Then again, when someone tells you, you are indeed special, (when all around seem may pretty blase to the fact), your heart will likely sing. At least mine did. And when that someone does all those things, you are, essentially, potentially a lost cause to any form of reasoned rational thought.
It is so easy to convince yourself that you love them, and that they must feel something special towards you. And then equally, that you can depend on them for so much more. And feel hurt (and more) when that doesn’t manifest itself. In such a situation what is the real truth here and who, when it all goes wrong, really is the wronged party?
People often weave tangled webs around themselves for a myriad of reasons. Just before halloween, Juan was helping me put up fake spider webs from packets of white webbing and I marvelled at the way he was able to create the most intricate of fake webs around my house. ´People don’t put them up properly´ he explained, as he delighted in creating the most intricate creative patterns, deftly attaching them to walls and furnishings with scotch tape.‘’You’re a master at this’’ I exclaimed and he laughed. But yes, he was a master at creating and carrying out a plan, an idea, developing his own web. He clearly enjoyed doing it, and he wanted people to know it too. My only concern was that perhaps some might get trapped in that web and find it hard to escape.
On my previous birthday he wrote a letter inside a card, telling me how special I was. ´Your heart is endless and you are a magnificent example of the meaning of friendship. A huge hug for my remarkable, unique, lovely warm hearted friend´. I took it as a ´special letter´at the time, whilst I can see now that he wrote it as a letter for others to consider. I see now that I was already starting to see him as a ´special person´ and he saw me as yes, a ´special person´ but not in that same way. That letter in retrospect might been the catalyst that started the misunderstanding that I then laboured under and unwittingly (or indeed wittingly) nurtured, from that time onwards. There was nothing promised in the letter and yet somehow I saw it as a statement of intent. In retrospect it was not. In fact it was printed out and not even signed by him.
When we want something badly it is so easy to see things that aren’t there, we convince ourselves they might be and they can become real, in our imagination. Eventually I came to crave them. I wanted that attention, admiration, those kind words. I wanted to be seen, appreciated as someone who mattered, as someone who was not old, feeble, past his best as someone who still ‘had it’ And yes, who still mattered. It is a theme I think that plays out over many lives, in various ways, as we age gracefully or indeed disgracefully. And sometimes it can mean an attachment to a person that is only a half truth. Not exactly a lie but something that owes a deal to a wish fulfilment.
Before you know it you are consumed by that attention, allowing it to become special, to take over your life, to desire it and feel a- very literal- sense of loss when it´is not there, almost like a bereavement, of sudden emptyness again. Loss of purpose and sense of self. Perhaps I am over exaggerating this desire for effect. When you feel alive again, a valued person, with this other person, anything else can seem decidedly second rate.
If I could distil all this into its very essence, I suppose it comes down to the feeling of having a genuine human connection with all its associated warmth, of being valued, trusted, (along with senses being stimulated). Being told the truth.
Although as I´ve already asked, what exactly is the truth ? Is it ok to tell white lies sometimes, to uphold the sacred notion of the whole truth? Society places a very great emphasis on the whole truth, we swear by it in a witness stand: so help me god. Yet it is very hard to unravel where the whole truth goes sometimes, in our lives, in our relationships, in our friendships, in our workplaces. Of one thing we can be reasonably certain, my truth is different to your truth. And indeed my truth is different to Juan´s truth. We all do things for our own satisfaction and pleasure to some extent, even if they are seemingly, on the surface. about care for others.
Re-reading that birthday letter again, the writer does claim things for himself. How he has had fun meeting other people as a result of events I had facilitated, created, how he hopes to benefit from finding others like me, to make his life easier and happier, how he hopes others will think about these things, the meaning of these qualities. It is, in its own way a very honest letter, a very truthful letter. And, to me, at the time, a very beautiful letter that seemingly says a lot about its writer.
And so I am not surprised by how ´tangled up´ I became or thought I became, in this persons life, even though in retrospect I realise I know very little about it at all. And why I wanted to see this person achieve a level of happiness and success. I even realise how these feelings became a millstone around both our necks, for they were not really helpful in many ways to me, in that they were not realistic but simply a desire, and not helpful to Juan as they became an additional burden to deal with, in a time of both change and when it was necessary to shed things that kept him tied to his home city. So something relatively simple became complicated and distorted. Fraught with misadventure and open to confusion, disilusion and frustration.
Oh, and again I marvel at what complicated patterns and webs we all weave. And surely that must be the final word on this subject?
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