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Love and Time II

Love and Time II

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Published by Eugene

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Published by: Eugene on Jan 29, 2012
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Love and Time II: Of Love's Winter Solstice
 Mi alma no se contenta con haberla perdido.Como para acercarla mi mirada la busca. Mi corazón la busca, y ella no está conmigo.La misma noche que hace blanquear los mismos arboles. Nosotros, los de entonces, ya no somos los mismos.Ya no la quiero, es cierto pero cuánto la quise. Mi voz buscaba el viento para tocar su oído.De otro. Será de otro. Como antes de mis besos. Su voz, su cuerpo claro. Sus ojos infinitos.Ya no la quiero, es cierto, pero tal vez la quiero. Es tan corto al amor, y es tan largo el olvido.Porque en noches como ésta la tuve entre mis brazos, mi alma no se contenta con haberla perdido. Aunque ésta sea el último dolor que ella me causa, y éstos sean los últimos versos que yo le escribo.
-Pablo Neruda[´My sight tries to find her as though to bring her closer.My heart looks for her, and she is not with me. The same night whitening the same trees. We, of that time, are no longer the same.I no longer love her, that's certain, but how I loved her.My voice tried to find the wind to touch her hearing. Another's. She will be another's. As she was before my kisses.Her voice, her bright body. Her infinite eyes.I no longer love her, that's certain, but maybe I love her.Love is so short, forgetting is so long.Because through nights like this one I held her in my arms,my soul is not satisfied that it has lost her. Though this be the last pain that she makes me sufferand these the last verses that I write for her.µ ] Whenever a relationship reaches its breaking point and its eventual demise, the feared reality of pain burdens the lover and beloved. This pain rises up from the choice to separate³the breaking of the promise of togetherness bound by both·s words that meant to be forever; a vow that, atpresent, can never be sustained. What follows is one of the darker experiences of love: a solitary  winter that does not reveal an immediate end. Warm nights suddenly turn cold. Morning sunshinesurprisingly reflects shadows of gray. Passion becomes pain. Desire rises up as anger. Hope isovershadowed by fear. Often, the question is asked: For how long will I have to bear with this?How long this aforementioned ¶winter· lasts may be different for each person. For some, it isas quick as a click. For others, it takes weeks. For a few, it eats up years. However, time·s length doesnot define the lover·s overcoming of winter. In love, time sheds into an entirely deeper shade of meaning. Reality hits that love is its own time.
Overcoming, of which time is an immediate indicator, is best told in depth. Indeed, thequestion of time transforms itself into a deeper question of being. To be able to move on presentsitself as a problematic greater than chronological time. Time may be the lover·s witness, the horizon where the lover·s becoming happens. The more relevant question reveals itself³how does a loverovercome the time of winter?
 The Approaching Twilight
Once the reality of separation sets in, things become a blur. The lover experiences a blur of contradictions: tears that bear happiness and sorrow, weight and lightness of freedom, bittersweetplaces and events, a self that is finally free yet rejects the very same freedom, and likewise a certainand rational choice that brings about irrational and unbearable pain. I no longer love her, yet how Iloved her then! The same time that embraces the lover and the beloved presents a different ordeal: We, of that time, are no longer the same. My heart looks for her and she is not with me. The lover is caughtup in a transition, a kind of dispersion of self³a scattering. Yet if one looks at it, isn·t this a scattersince the lover was able to regain what was lost and to remain his own self? Isn·t this more of anacceptable situation since this is the very treasure that the separation awarded to both and serves astheir own freedom? Why is it that the lover is caught in a quandary³still searching for the beloved when the mutual decision is to break up? The lover experiences scatter because of the shattering of the greater whole, a perfection thathe can no longer live without. Whatever the narrative of this greater whole is, the reality of being separated from it elicits bittersweet pain. Separation does not accompany within itself a suddenerasure of emotions. When one has given his whole self to the other, and then gets separated, heundergoes a scatter. The dispersion of the self happens precisely because of the broken bond thatunited him to the beloved. The depth of such bond is beyond calculation and even reason. The lovethat exists which made the bond possible erects itself as reason. Thus, the lover going through a winter of separation can never be consoled even by rational explanations. His longing can only befilled by a beloved who is no more. No reason can satisfy alover·s longing. A lover·s longing lingers. The lingering adds weight for the lover to carry. The lover bearsthe weight of his longing, a longing he could not stop and a longing that pushes him to hold on tothe present that should be a past. The lover·s present is still the beloved·s presence. Yet she will beanother·s. As she was before, her kisses, her voice, her bright body, her infinite eyes were mine; nolonger are they now. The lover still clings to that which is no longer there: the presence of anabsence, the absence of the perfect togetherness. Reminiscing of such a presence heightens the coldof winter. We, of that time, are no longer the same.For how long? The question is a cry of anguish of an unwanted exodus unto an uncertaindesert. If only moving on is only as easy as changing one·s online relationship status from ¶X· to ¶Y·,only as quick as deleting online social network profiles, only as instant as turning switches, thenperhaps more people will not shy away in giving themselves to others! If pain can only evaporate asswiftly as sweat or rain! Alas, love is its own time; pain seems to indeterminately remain. Time shedsanother skin: duration. Duration, as Henri Bergson notes, is different from measured time. Durationresembles more the inner rhythm of things³our being, taking being as a verb as in the manner of 
exist-ing. We can never escape duration since it is part of who we are. We cannot also lengthen orshorten it however it pleases us unlike the hands of a watch. Lived experiences, though we usually measure by time, impinges on our duration. The summers of love are measured by the intensities of our be-ing, of our exist-ing as we go through (experience) them with our beloveds and inexperiencing them, our beings are taken out ( 
 ). The same wind hollers in the winters of love. Time, pain and suffering take us out, shake our whole being, making us scream and become restless.Describing experiences of pain and fear, Bergson notes our penchant for escape: "Fear, whenstrong," says Herbert Spencer "expresses itself in cries, in efforts to escape, in palpitation, intrembling." Further, ´Darwin has drawn a striking picture of the reactions following a pain whichbecomes more and more acute. ¶Great pain urges all animals... to make the most violent anddiversified efforts to escape from the cause of suffering...·µ In the bosom of Time, the lover facesnot only his existence but more importantly, gropes with his existing (duration). The weight of suchexperience is opposite to the lightness being experience in the summer of love. If the summersreward the lover ecstatic joy in togetherness, winters punish the lover with an almost unbearable balland chains of pain. Found in the clearing of time is the lover, none other. ´Standing in timeµ, asMartin Heidegger remarks, ´it is actually us that pass away when we say time passes away.µ
roping in the Dark 
Forgive and forget. This is the cliché and accepted advice for the lover who suffers separation. Can the loverever forget? Can he actually erase the beloved from his memory? Can his memory be rebootedanew? Can he overcome the past by annihilating it? Forgetting is made even tougher by thememories that haunt the lover in every place or event the lover shared with the beloved. The loverasks: If forgetting is the reaction, then how is it possible to forget a beloved?Forget comes from the Old English
 which means ´passing byµ or ´letting go.µ In adeeper sense, to forget means to let go, to let things pass by without holding on to them. For people who decided to call it quits, letting go is the most arduous of all tasks. Since the lover experiencesscatter given the shattering of the bond, he cannot help but to put things together (reconciliar,reconcile) in order to prevent his dispersion. Holding on to the gift of perfection found intogetherness is the refuge of the scattered lover. However such perfection ceases to exist because of separation. It is no more. The lover must let it go. He must forget.Forgetting as letting go takes time, as sometimes it doesn·t even happen as some would say:¶how can you forget someone who has given you so much to remember?·. In trying to let go, thelover overcomes his burdensome clutch to a past that halts his acknowledgment of the future. Thepast can really be tempting; the present filled with the beloved·s absence is tormenting. The nights where the lover holds the beloved in his arms are presently the nights filled with loneliness andconfusion. If efforts have been exhausted and still the lover and the beloved cannot put things back together again, then it is time to let go. Love is so short, forgetting is so long.Letting go does not mean rebooting a memory or erasing events in one·s life. Though one wishes so, the reality is that the beloved leaves a space in the lover·s life that the beloved is moldedafter. Henri Bergson writes in
Time and Free Will 
, when it is said that an object occupies a large spacein the soul or even that it fills entirely; we ought to understand by this simply that its image hasaltered the shade of a thousand perceptions or memories«it pervades them. The beloved has

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