Friday, November 4, 2011


Kierkegaard understood the frailties of love when he illustrated the truth of resignation.  The knight who lets go his lady love to another, so Kierkegaard says, maintains the ideal of his love in her absence before the illusion is countered by reality.  He himself let go the love of his life, but they remained friends for a long time afterwards.

I know now that Kierkegaard was a fool, and so am I.

Do you want to know why I loved Her, dear reader?  She wore a mite around her neck.

 41And Jesus sat over against the treasury, and beheld how the people cast money into the treasury: and many that were rich cast in much.
 42And there came a certain poor widow, and she threw in two mites, which make a farthing.
 43And he called unto him his disciples, and saith unto them, Verily I say unto you, That this poor widow hath cast more in, than all they which have cast into the treasury:
 44For all they did cast in of their abundance; but she of her want did cast in all that she had, even all her living.
Her god was a God of Compassion & Direct Action.  If I could, I would have dropped everything and followed her anywhere.  I would have written sonnets, poems, epics, anything in order to make her god the God of Man.  But that opportunity would never come, and I wasted the last moments I could have had with her from a resignation of inadequacy, rather than Kierkegaard's moralism.

I should've been with her that night, but I didn't go.  I should have, and I understand that now harder than I would have ever wanted to admit.  I should have seen in myself what she saw, understood what she knew about me in the same way I knew her, though we'd only met twice.

I hope she's happy wherever she is, but most of all I hope that I can see her again.

No comments:

Post a Comment