12.12.2001 || 21h54

Philosopher's Stone

I am uncomfortable discussing love. Love scares me because I have defied it so often in my life. I am scared by the idea of permanence that so many attribute to love and its by-products. I don't know about that; I know the feeling of never wanting it to end or never wanting to let go. I've felt it before and ended up in pieces afterwards. I have also defied love with every breath. I spent a long, long time that way, and it has left me unsure of my footing when loving with more than just the word. The first time I defied it was when my doctor told me that the mess of my lungs means that I always run the small possibility of death, and all the other things I keep from my smoky yet loving family. I was suddenly a bad bet for anyone who wanted a life with a partner, so I became untouchable. For a while, I was good at it. That was the mind in action.

Not the heart. The heart is the Philosopher's Stone of old, turning the base iron of cynicism into the warm and buttery gold of love. Life is alchemy: the search for the Stone and the agony of defeat a million times in a row before the eureka that causes blinding pain, anguish, and utter, selfless, ecstatic adoration. I understand this now, as I understand that the stuff that is scariest is sometimes terrifying because it's *worth* it. I have spent several years now re-learning about it.

It is hard, sometimes, to see whether we have attained love for something lesser; chalcopyrite or marcasite. Some people settle for fool's gold their entire lives; more people do this than we think. More than would like to admit. we take the sensations caused by being with the sexiest woman or man we've ever known, and place them in the cavity reserved for love, or fill its dusty confines with money or drugs -- for a while. I have done all of these and so have many, many of you. It is easier than grabbing the one who means the universe, and who you want to wake up next to every morning for the next 45 years, and holding them tightly in there next to your own life. That takes a leap of faith when many of us are only capable of a skip.

Alchemists never found the Stone upon which their craft was based. That seems like a sad existence to me.



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