I remembered what love once meant to me and I thought I’d share it with those of us who might have forgotten it.
I’m talking about the love that hits you upside the head when you’re not looking; the type that won’t let you think of anyone else besides him or her; the love that you wish your lover would feel but you’re too afraid to hope for a schmuck like yourself.
You were not looking for love when it found you. You liked the person upon meeting, and you felt a connection. It could have been a connection with others you were close with in some other lifetime. You found yourself laughing and enjoying their company and looking forward to the next meeting to sit near them, or to simply be in their company when you did something that offered mutual entertainment or mutual comfort or maybe a little of both.
Suddenly, you get their e-mail and you casually write a note. You never mention love, but only how much you enjoyed their company, their brains, maybe even their looks. Hell, you’re surprised that you even asked for their contact info. You hardly know ’em, yet you wanted to share what you did know about ’em and about yourself.
They write it down and reveal a little more about themselves, explaining how they came up with that contact name. You like the story even before the explanation ends, and you know in your heart that you’ll contact them immediately because you don’t want to lose the paper it was written on.
You send what you believe is an innocuous message.
And then you get a reply.
They say something out of the ordinary. Their words somehow alter your reality; you start to see them differently.
Is the last statement they made more flirtatious then what you had initially thought it was? Was something “flirty” about your words — their content or their meaning? Did you subconsciously send a message you never would have thought of sending when you first befriended them?
And then you send a message which you “intend” to be flirtation. Next, you get a response that’s an outright confession of something friends might never say. Lovers might, but not friends.
A Teutonic plate now shifts and the world somehow changes. It’s a lot better than it was just a moment ago.
And, well there you have it. The beginning of a romance you never knew could grow with that person.
Looking back, you see how the Universe had brought the two of you together. I remember sharing a little story about Carl Jung, the eminent psychologist, with my budding love, and she not only joined in my adoration of the wise man, but told me his spirit guide’s name. “Philomena!”
And that wonderful and gifted person next told me that she had a picture of Jung’s guide on the desk . . .
How could I not love person like that?
I remember how I wanted to shout out to the world and everyone in it that “I am in love.” I spoke gently, however and watched as my listeners seemed to feel love grow within themselves as I offered the foolish nonsense of a young lover. Starry-eyed and a little mushy. Feeling compassion and nothing but an over-riding sense of empathy for one and all.
The world was as good as it could get right then and there. “Let me die with this feeling in my heart and the thought of love on my mind,” I recalled praying to the Almighty.
Too bad it could not last. But a long time after the powerful sense of love faded, you discovered that you were still friends. And you’d remember that person and all the others that your shared love with, when the next “love of your life” comes along and you’re hit upside the head again.