There’s a lyric from a Radiohead song that perfectly captures the wistfulness of lost love. The wistfulness of what could have been and might have been and should have been, if only. The lyric goes like this; I wish I could be who wanted, I wish I could who wanted. It so perfectly captures that bitter sweetness, that aching sadness, that anguish of longing or what might have been in you or I could have been what we hoped, each other would be for one another.
Romantic love is a projection, an investment, it’s an act of faith, it’s a leap of faith, it’s an over inflation of the other person, it’s raising a person up into a pedestal. It’s turning a human being into a God or a Goddess and it’s hoping that by consummating with perfection, itself, we will be raised above our animal condition and made to be, as gods outside of time, temporarily stepping off that people-mover, that’s carrying everyone else toward death.
To fall in love is to enter the forever box with somebody else. It’s to live inside of a pop song. It’s to stare in somebody’s eyes and feel so reassured that you want to cry. It’s knowing your favorite songs, it’s that sweeping swelling moment where the strings, your heartstrings, are pulled by the melody and you’re carried somewhere else. When you exceed yourself, when you tear up, well up, when you’re crying because it feels so good to have found something in which your desires have been abolished by the plenitude of their satisfaction.
It doesn’t get better then this and you enter that halo, you enter that holy space that sacred holy ground with someone. It’s an inter-subjective life world that’s shaped like a heart, cosmology of a universe shaped by two people. A lucid dream, a fusion of cognition and dream. An altered state of consciousness that you enter with this person.
That is a lot of pressure, as glorious as the song of songs is. When you’re in love, the ravishment of romantic love, it is everything. It is heaven on earth but can a relationship bear the burden of Godhood? With our God, eventually show their clay feet, will the cracks in this benevolent perfect being you put on a pedestal reveal, your own cracks back to you. Will you have to will the dream? Be deflated by the unta logical reality of death and transience and aging?
Who can bear love is aging? who can bear the end of the honeymoon phase? It’s a fundamental problem with our wiring. It’s called, hedonic adaptation. We can’t produce enough dopamine to stay in that halo forever. We will crash, we are bliss junkies, we are hooked on that state but can we raise the stage? Maybe the future will be to have to rewire our neurology to storm heaven to become paradise engineers. To create a kind of consciousness that can experience a rapture and absentee of love forever. When you marry someone, you say I will love you forever, i want to feel this way forever.
So what do we do? What the fuck do we do? I’m still morning, i’m still grieving for every love that I lost. Fuck am I supposed to get over that? I didn’t sign up for these terms.