“Is there anyone who has ever written so much as a love letter in which he felt that he had said exactly what he intended?” ~George Orwell
“It was not the passion that was new to her, it was the yearning adoration. She knew she had always feared it, for it left her helpless; she feared it still, lest if she adored him too much.” ~D.H. Lawrence, Lady Chatterley's Lover
I John 4:18: There is no fear in love; but perfect love castesth out fear: because fear hath torment. He that feareth is not made perfect in love. When I was a little girl, my Evangelical Parents marched my Ass into Sunday School on a weekly basis. Each Sunday Morning, the Teacher told us story, taught us to make a craft, and then forced us to memorize a Bible verse. I John 4:18 was one of favorites. My young mind romanticized its meaning. In my childish head, love conquered all, like that Knight in Sleeping Beauty. And I knew that when I fell in love, I'd strap on my oh so cool Rainbow Brite Belt, Fluff my Naturally Curly Hair, Adjust my Skirt, and then walk up to the Man I adored, place a kiss on his lips, and lead him away. Done deal. In my defense, the Bible, My Parents, and a Handful of Nearly Illiterate Sunday School Teachers assured me Love was the Antithesis of Fear. It never occurred to my naive brain that I was misinterpreting the Scripture's meaning, and no ever corrected me. As you might suspect by now, adulthood presented me with a number of harsh reality checks.
|Maybe he wasn't scary enough?|
With Age, Education, and Experience, I came to understand that falling in love was equivalent to pointing a loaded gun at my own head. In an effort to protect myself from playing Russian Roulette yet again, I allowed my personality to undergo a Mutation, the Once Chubby and Open Child became a Guarded Young Women, and then a Closed Off Thirty Year Old. Oh, I retained the hospitable and overly warm manners my upbringing instilled in me, but those gestures were simply a performance. While I smiled and nodded at people by day, I went home and constructed my Impenetrable Doom Fortress by night. That safe haven, I believed, would save me from the trapping of love and caring, two deadly pursuits. Then, despite all my precautions, the unthinkable happened: Someone Slipped inside my Castle of Death. Even now, months later, I'm still floored. How the hell he made it past my Foaming Three Headed Dog, Cthulhu Monster, Poison Darts, and, last but not least, my Disgustingly Annoying Jar Jar Binks Security Guard, I'll never know. Does he own a Tardis, Sonic Screwdriver, and Pair of Ear Plugs? Its the only reasonable explanation. Now look at me, standing here with another human running around my Fortress of Solitude. That completely nullifies the Solitude aspect of my Creation. I've no clue how to handle this. Perhaps the best thing to do is Nothing. Yes, that's it, I will sit still, pray, and continue with my plan of NOTHING.