Plain Love

When the moment passes you can fall into a blankness. Futilely searching for the thing which you can't see. Flailing, it could seem, like walking through the hallway at night: where is it? Where am I? And why do I keep repeating these things to myself?

I catch myself in the act again and chide myself softly "don't do that, Mike, it's not helpful". I try to listen to my self-recommendation, pulling away from the thought of it, as it passes again and again into my mind. Holding the knife, the shiny Japanese pear knife, cutting so sharply through the apple: hearing the metal as its splices through, you can almost see in your minds eye that sordid, unwanted yet tempting image: stabbing her in the face with it.

"Do it....." it says, cleverly, and bluntly, pounding its way into your psyche. "You can do it. You CAN do it. CAN. A possibility!' It implores, it demands that I listen that at this moment, I can take my knife and stab my dog in her face.

As she sits there she looks at me, blankly, so incredibly focused and drooling for the piece of delicious granny smith apple. I can't help but let out a chuckle at the absurdity of her conviction: no knowing how ridiculous she can look; because there is no comparing reality with something else; our ever present human proclivity to imagine ourselves where we are not. To dissociate.

I am disgusted with these thoughts; disgusted with the morbidity of the image of me taking up a knife and bringing it to her face. I take in the pictures of the side inside of me; a weirdness, a fear that tempts that which is forbidden; that which is dangerous - that which is evil. It promises nothing but destruction and madness, a forlorn hollowness wanting to destroy - destroy because the world, for as long as I have been alive, could be so wrong, could feel so wrong, because a long time ago my mother suckled me at her anxious bosom.

I take the knife, place it farther away from me to get the images to go off. I look at her, now switching to a state of 'whats wrong'? The way she always looks when my face expresses my philosophical wonderment about her. She stares me, exactly the response you would expect from a creature that doesn't know that it knows. It's perfect that she should be confused; so "in" life to be boggled by a face that expresses a mind contemplating lifes absurdities; its beauty, its shallowness; its awe-inspiring conditions that make life as it is; fraught with difficulty. Tempting us; grasping our attention; but leaving us invested and in confusion. Lost to ourselves, we enact selves that can keep up the illusions. We push away while we hope for change. We stay in the tension, either unconscious or conscious, without appreciating the need for radical acceptance of what is.

I pick up the knife again, take it to my apple, and slice out, again and again, harder, faster, thinner slices of apple. I munch them up as I look at her beautiful face. Beads of water hanging from her drawl. I cut off a piece of apple and give it to her. I put my hands out, towards her head and behind her ears, and pull her forward. "I love you". I want her to hear, to hear the vibrations of human words intoning loving affects. The symbols, lost, mostly for me. But the spirit - the feeling - the vibration of feeling, electromagentically in the body and the sensations in mind, both of us, human and dog, are aligning along that plane called love.

Reviews

[kclyaine]

I don't understand why you want to stab her? I don't understand if you love her? Isn't the plane called love is an illusion in your mind? thinking electromagnetically and sensation in the mind. Is it weird, to have no reason? Just simplicity as plain as your reasons? The things you think and things you do, don't think of much of it, you'll become a fool.