Fear of love and knowing if love is real

You sit and hold my gaze; looking into me rather than at me. You speak quietly, deliberately choosing words which keep you safe and free of obligation or misunderstanding. You use words other than the one you really want to express. The true meaning hides behind those eyes and in the tone of your voice - it is a different interpretation. You are not saying what you are saying and you leave me with no doubt that this is not to be challenged or even questioned.

I feel you move towards me. Are you reaching out or pulling me forward? I do not know; as I sense this but I do not see it - you did not move.

I am hearing your words and understanding what you think I should receive. I respond in the way that addresses your issues; reassuring you without defining what I am really hearing. Yes, there is an elephant sitting on the table but we all pretend not to notice.

I am looking at a photograph of myself on the back wall of your heart. I wander through the secret room in your mind; where you have long and honest conversations with me. Not like now, when everything is guarded and monitored. No, in your secret room which you think is yours alone - I do come. In the still of night you summon me there and you speak with naked thoughts.

Your voice is hypnotic and my mind is wandering. I am circling above you and looking down into a labyrinth. You are a child hiding in the center. You are calling me and laughing that I will never find you. From above I know you are not laughing and this is not a childish game that you play. I see you crouched and afraid and begging me to reach you. You are alone and lost there - but calling it safe. Do the walls keep your fears out or do they simply imprison you? I run through dead end corridors frantically calling to you. I am afraid and panicked and scratch myself through hedges trying to shortcut the confusion. I hear you laugh - I sense you cry.

I have entered the labyrinth a hundred times but I have never managed to find you. I am left devastated and you are disappointed. You tell yourself if I really cared I would not give up. I wonder why you won't just walk out or meet me half way.

It's the daemons you say. Did you say that or did I just know that? The daemons within the child are still trapped within the man. Like footsteps outside the bedroom door as you hold yourself in a foetal position and pray that the door is locked. If the past should revisit, will it bring with it all of its carnage and destitution? Well that's a little strong perhaps, but that's how you really remember it; the isolation, betrayals and abandonment. What is this I ask and you reply, 'This is Love'.

And yes, I long for love. To feel it, give and receive it - to trust in it. It is an endless and relentless hunger; a quiet demand and a delirious obsession. I have been seduced by its magic and been thrilled by its promise. I have been touched and nurtured and cradled like a baby. I have danced with a translucent body and sung songs without words. I have been illuminated and energized. I even thought I saw the face of God once or twice.

They say that love is not for the feint-hearted. What an understatement. I have crawled on my knees and been kicked like a dog. I have had my heart chewed out and spat away. I have been diminished by loves humiliation and fickle games. Abandoned - like ash inside skin and silently screaming. I have been left impotent and castrated in more ways than one.

Don't say the word, I won't respond. It's a taboo subject; I won't be seduced by your interpretation or promises. Let's talk about sex and how your body can thrill me. I will speak of friendship, affection and caring. I'll play mental mathematics with you; pragmatic, cynical or ponderous. Hypothetically, we might talk about 'The Others'.

I watch as you fall backwards and then down deep into yourself. You ask your heart to explain itself. The emotional aspects of love are a kaleidoscope, smoke and mirrors, ocean waves and fragments of glass; unpredictable, indefinable and ever changing. There is nothing solid here and nothing sustainable or of any real substance.

The mind unpacks boxes with labels and history reveals itself. Love is a prison and a man is held in bondage. A woman's agenda is always about control and possession. Love is a weapon no less than a sword. Don't tear out my vulnerabilities just to blackmail me later with what you thought I promised. Protector, provider and puppet are only your projections. I am afraid that you will own me as much as I am afraid that you will reject me.

No, love can not be measured by emotion or intellect; of this I am sure. Let's talk of sex and lust. I understand my hunger and predict my satisfaction. There is a banquet on offer and with some careful consideration and appropriate manners I can take my fill and then take my leave. Call me greedy or send me the bill but it's an honest transaction at least. A man must do what a man must do and you may well afford me a little flexibility or discretion. If I pleasure you and thrill you then surely you can call it love, but not hold me to any debit. Let me remind you once again, "I did not say I loved you".

If it isn't named then it isn't claimed!

We have witnessed fields of broken dreams and you wondered aloud if love could last forever. Is there really a special 'One' for all of us? Are you testing me with casual and cryptic clues? Am I on trial before your trust? Don't speak to me of things long past. I too have traveled your roads, but all roads led to here. Don't make me be your whipping boy for the sins of all the others.

Do I need to die before you concede that I was the one?

I am certain of this: I have seen it written across the sky. This is the real deal - the day that destiny came to now.

Will we accept it? Can we step up and into it? I watch your face and your hesitation; I hear you think to yourself, I do love you. It's foreign and uncomfortable. You say it again and listen; uncomfortable and threatening. You feel the fear come to surface and swallow it down again. I love you - you regurgitate. The daemons rise but you command them back; they cower in the corner. Do I love you? I want to love you, can I love you - do you love me?

But, what about..? Can you promise me..? What if..?

You slump in your chair and draw a breath as you search for your words. Your eyes penetrate me and your words bounce around the room before I am able to grasp them. "What is your definition of love? If we take away our history, eliminate the intellectual, emotional and sexual - then tell me what, 'I love you,' really means?"

If I am not my body, have no thought or emotion, do I even exist? Yes, I am sure I do. If I exist, do I still feel love and am I capable of giving or receiving love? I sense my answer from knowing this more than any truth I have ever known, "Love is who and what I am".

Then how can you say you love me?

In this pure and uncontaminated state, I stand before you, more naked than air. Perhaps for the very first time you will see me as I see you. You are my reflection.

Sonya Green (West Australian) Author of Reinventing Myself. Meditation CD productions and webmaster

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DOOR OF HOPE