On a personal quest, I brought with me questions about relationship. What is my attachment to “forever”, my longing for forever, what does it mean to me? I didn’t pre-plan that theme (do we ever?) As I decorated my journal for taking notes in my courses I looked through a box of word scraps and what words I was attracted to, “forever” was one. I wasn’t sure why, and I really didn’t like it, but I glued it onto the front of my book anyway, because it felt like it insisted on being there. The call was greater than the aversion I guess. So every day I look at this journal with the word forever on it. It began irritating me early on. One night I added the word “sucks” next to it! Forever Sucks! In my walks and hikes I have been talking to my classmates, mostly women, about their relationships. Married 30 years, married 33 years, married 27 years, married 10 years… learning their stories of how they met, how they stayed together, how it is now. They all love the person they are with now, more than they did when they met. They would not choose differently.
A teacher in my life told me years ago to “beware of the idea of forever” that it does not exist. That it is a trap for suffering. At that point I created meaning for myself, that relationships are not forever. I could not let go of my thinking that love is forever. And I still have not, nor am I sure that I want to. I have always felt like a forever person, yet I see that I have not chosen forever relationships. Maybe they don’t exist, maybe it wasn’t really what I wanted. It is a humbling moment when I accept responsibility for this fact. Not blaming anyone, but seeing it is me that walked this journey.
And then to combine these two themes, the idea of forever, or not, and resilience and glimmers of hope, or not. How do we stay resilient in the journey of love. Do the marriages that last bend back easily, finding the shape that brought them together? Do they choose more love than fear? Everyone I talked to said they had shaky moments that they thought the relationship might end, but it didn’t and they are grateful. I felt filled with hope a few months ago. What was the meaning that I gave to love that created that hope?
As I sit here writing I hear the birds singing a delightful improv. A choir of song is floating in also, sounds like traditional songs of Switzerland, complete with clapping. I can imagine that there is dancing that the music is supporting, too. Then, the occasional baaa of a sheep works as an accent to an already lively production. Today is Sunday. I have lost track of days so realizing that it is Sunday helped my state of reverence and musing find comfort in it being the Sabbath.
Thanks for stopping in…
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