love is devastating. Not devastating sad, like “oh, I broke up with my lover, I am so devastated,” no – devastating as a feeling to feel, if I could even call love a feeling more so than an energy; love (the only word that seems fitting) is an energy that makes me feel as if I am made of tissue paper, held together by the delicate pressing of hands, fragile in my composure and at times falling apart at every seam. The falling apart part only happens for a moment, a really fleeting spatter of seconds in space where life and death are one in the same and it must be what it feels like to die – at least if all that “life flashing before your eyes” stuff is true. Love makes me feel as if I am barely being held together; that my physical body is just a clever scheme that gives the illusion of together-ness but is really just this mass of atoms that don’t actually ever touch and are only held together by chance. When love devastates, I feel as if my atoms are about to break apart, the contents of my self to be strewn in with the others.
so interesting (yet relevant) to juxtapose love and death side by side… perhaps it is love that is the opposite of death and not life. After all, how much of our living selves are walking death? Love as energy awakens the parts of us that have yet to animate, so love is the real yang of death, not life. (But did we already know that?)
I usually write from the vantage point of death: in the deep well of my most intimate and painful remembrances of it, I write about love as a way to quell my grieving and to do something in those moments where everything seems to come together and compress into a tiny little stone of exquisite incomprehensibility in my mind.. like love, those moments are fleeting, but powerful in their ability to make me feel completely incapacitated. Perhaps in those moments we are truly one with the world, and existing fully as human atom-masses on our beloved space-speck called Earth; perhaps in those moments we get a chance to experience a different part of our consciousness, or even, our whole consciousness..!! Could you imagine? What it must feel like to access your entire range of consciousness and feel synergy with the universe as an organic being? It’s like being taken apart only to be put back together again, but this time with the memory of the slight exposure of our insides to the outside. Or perhaps it’s only a matter of having dopamine on the brain, but I’m going to go out on a universe-synergy limb and say that there is more to it than just “science.” I take drugs to science my brain into accessing different consciousness, but love is the elusive drug of the universe which breathes oneness into us if we are blessed enough to even experience a moment like that in our lives.
And perhaps that is why love can feel as devastating as death can to the soul. In those pebble moments that render me incapable when I grieve I am in the most unison I ever am in with the universe, and in the corresponding pebble moments when I am lovestruck I am also in unison at my highest level.. so maybe love and death are not so different from one another, or at least they exist in dialectical suspense: no light without dark, no love without death. If we do indeed live our lives within ourselves right before we die, then it isn’t a far suggestion to expect that in the moments when we are on the highest frequency of living – when the hit of lovedruguniverse rushes into our veins in fleeting specks of time – that we are experiencing the side effects of death. We die in our love as we live in our death.
Today I felt love and oneness with the universe, and I felt like I was dying.