The Rosicrucian Cosmo-Conception

Let me tell you a secret: All love is tragedy when it’s part of the narrative.

I wanted to write you a love letter.  Something to let you know that I was thinking about you, that I wish after you, that I long for you.  But then, I asked myself:  What is a love letter, really?  Why do people write them?  I know, I know, they say its to express the emotion of love.  And I find myself acting just like these people.  Writing letters to express emotions.  I suppose I can’t help it.  That’s what I do.  That’s what I bring.  One day I’ll quit writing altogether.  Of course, on that day, I’ll also quit breathing.  I’m pretty sure that the two go hand in hand by this point.  But enough about me, this is supposed to be a gotdamn love letter!

            Shakespeare said it all. And he said it better than any writer past, present or future.  There.  I said it.  Shakespeare was the bomb when it came to love.  He thoroughly explored the literary depths of that emotion and I believe that he’s actually covered every aspect of it.  What a fucking asshole.  He could’ve left a few enigmas for the rest of us to figure out.  But alas, the only enigmas Shakespeare left were in trying to figure out exactly what the hell he’s talking about.  Crappy Elizabethan language.  Beautiful, true, but very convoluted.

            Why do I love you?  I think you wonder that quite a bit.  I think you wonder why I love you like I do and I haven’t forgotten you, written you off or cursed you to hell.  Because I think that most of your past “loves” have done one, if not all, of those things.  And at some point you began to believe all those awful things others told you.  You bought into all that filthy shit.  You actually made a suit out of them, if you will, and that became “you.”  Enter negative self-fulfilling prophecy to tailor your suit and make it fit just right.  And once you got that suit to fit exactly how you wanted, you REFUSED to take it off for anyone.  Perhaps you even became a little bit proud of it…secretly.  You told Yourself, “This is who I AM.  This is Crystal.”  And Yourself agreed with You because this suit also acted as armor.  It protected your fragile and beaten soul, your shattered heart, your displaced beautiful spirit and hid them away inside.  Then I come along.

I come along being who I AM.  Being what I AM.  And I did something that no one else did:  I looked behind that suit of piss and vinegar and saw what was inside.  That’s what I fell in love with.  YOU behind the shit.  I didn’t buy into it.  I never did.  I always saw it for what it was: a wall.  A protection.  A “fuck them before they fuck me” mentality.  And that’s not who you really are…not at your core.  Not as far as your soul is concerned.  It’s just your asinine mind that gets in the way with its suit making and wall building that tells you things.

Oh sure, you’re chaotic and even dangerously spontaneous at times.  But I love that about you as well.  In fact, it is one of the things draws me to you and drew me to you in the first place.  I love your Chaos.  I daresay that I even NEED your Chaos.  As much as I preach about balance and even strive to find it, I’m drawn to the spontaneous spirit of life.  That energy that is the essence of laughter and light.  You have that spirit inside you.  Oh sure, you’ve tried to hide it or even take it away, but you can’t.  You get pissed and rage, you hate stupid people, done so many bad things and whatever other negative thoughts are playing through you head (maybe even right now because maybe you still can’t believe all this, even though you want to, even though you’re DYING to.) and acting as reinforcement for your suit.  But you can say and even think all that you want, the truth still remains.  And all the negative self-fulfilling prophecies in the world can’t change that.  One day you’ll realize it.  It’ll be like a god damn atom bomb going off in your head.  Lights and everything.  And I pray that I’m the one that’ll be there with you when it does finally happen.  That way I can give you a big fat “I told you so!”  and stick my tongue out and everything.  Maybe I’ll even smile impishly.  I’ll definitely burst into spontaneous song and dance.

I’m not sure if this is a great love letter or not.  But its an honest one.  Even that bit about Shakespeare.  See?

When, in disgrace with fortune and men’s eyes,

I all alone beweep my outcast state,

And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries,

And look upon myself and curse my fate,

Wishing me like to one more rich in hope,

Featured like him, like him with friends possess’d.

Desiring this man’s art and that man’s scope,

With what I most enjoy contented least;

Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising,

Haply I think on thee, and then my state,

Like to the lark at break of day arising

From sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven’s gate;

For thy sweet love remember’d such wealth brings

That then I scorn to change my state with kings.

Sonnet 29

I couldn’t have said it better myself.  So I didn’t.  Fucking Shakespeare.  What a fucking asshole!

I love you.

Has one comment to “The Rosicrucian Cosmo-Conception”

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  1. Unremarkable - at Reply

    Are you flipping serious!?!? Yes, Shakespeare is an asshole. But I’m now a monkey’s ass covered in his own powder! How do you do it, dearest Seeker? Speak so as to command even the deepest, nearest to death parts inside of me to stand to wake??? Bravo!

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