“Clutter” Daily Prompt

shallotthttp://dailypost.wordpress.com/2013/09/29/daily-prompt-junk/

Soul mates excite you! Love makes things perfect! Social media sells these mottoes to the recluses time and again. Usually it is a blonde with implants selling the epithets to hundreds of adoring “likes.” Move beyond the size D prophets and examine your own soul’s clutter. Artists, writers, song makers, introspective creators for thousands of years, have never pinpointed what love really is, Facebook wont either.

Our souls are all fragile and cluttered. They’ve been weathered by life, hurts , happiness, moments of excitement, jarred with fear, sometimes burned by deep violence. The nurturing of this bundle of energy that gives us any meaning, is probably the most important work you can do in your lifetime. Without doing that work, we cannot love anyone else, we cannot repair ourselves, we cannot trust ourselves.

Whitman exclaims that love awakens the soul. Bukowski likens it to urine in a river. Plath describes it as a death and rebirth. Rilke explains that love is not even possible until two “complete” people run parallel to each other. They are apart but together and never veer off that path. The ability to enjoy solitude is essential, he claims, to loving anything else.

Not only does love  “awaken” or “excite” the soul, but it levels out the extreme emotion we all feel. It stabilizes us, comforts us, therefore enabling us to progress further than we can alone. It helps us heal voids. It is another agent to protect our soul when we don’t do a good job ourselves.

I have had “excitable” love, I have definitely had moments of great passion. Running out of the house down the block into someone’s arms, love. Making love to a soldier all day and night, for fear he wont be home the next time, love. I’ve cried, promised, been promised, begged, been begged. I have had movie day moments, with poems and flowers and gifts and songs and fireworks. I’ve had songs written for me, I’ve been painted, I’ve been exulted. And life discarded those moments. Those moments sometimes turned into long embers others were snuffed out quickly, replaced. Excitement, moments of great pleasure are not love. They can ignite love, but they are not in themselves.

I think Whitman had it right.  It is not an awakening we need, though some of us are sleeping, it is something that re-energizes our souls time and again.  It is the person that keeps us from our self injuries. It keeps us from desiring anything else. Nothing else satisfies.

Its fighting and passion and hatred and need and a continual re-healing. It is showing your true self and tolerating pains for moments of completeness.  It is a true fidelity if it is felt  in the soul. And until we get out in the world alone and dig beneath one-dimensional beauty and phrases, we will always have just moments.

 

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