A Question of Love
Posted 7 November 2008on:
I’ve only just noticed that I moved to wordpress exactly a year ago; not that the last year was my first in blogdom having previously spent two happy and fun-filled years with blogger. Sometimes my path takes me back to my old roots and I do feel a wave of nostalgia and fond memories and wonder whether I made the right move or not. The move was, in essence, to make a fresh start with all my ramblings, my poetry and my Vincent thoughts living under one roof and I had lots of bright new ideas as well. I fancied turning this into a kinda newspaper column posing questions, moral dilemmas and current issues hoping people would proffer their opinions and I would learn more and open my mind. However, events overtook me and I found that rather than spending more quality time in the blogosphere, I was removed from it. The plan is still there, so when time and opportunity allow, I shall give it another go.
Those words “… love you” often have a tendency to just slip off the tongue, but do they have any real meaning? What lies behind those words? Is there a motive to saying them? Those words are said by my family and friends yet, and maybe I am being unfair, I cannot always accept them graciously believing there is a catch; those words are not said for no good reason. My response is often, “... yeah, what are you after?” The irony is that I purposely made a conscious decision to say those words, and mean it, every single day to all my family; I want them to know they are loved. It’s important for body and soul and self-esteem to know you’re loved and wanted and needed and all those things. So why don’t I believe it when the shoe is on the other foot? I don’t think I’m a cynic, but the heart is fragile.
I caught a programme on the box last night which reduced me to tears; yeah, I know it doesn’t take much. A psychic was giving a reading to a family where the father had passed; he had left the family when the children were very young and to all intents and purposes the parents did not get on, so he wasn’t there for any of them. From the “other side” he told his daughter that he’d always loved her mother and the reader came back and said that he was, in truth, her soulmate. How sad is that? What a waste! There is a yiddush saying that things are bashert. I believe it is pre-ordained, so how come so many get it wrong, or do they? For those who haven’t commited, maybe you should be guided by your heart and not your head and take the risk. And for those whose leap of faith came falling down in this age of escalating divorce, does it take a lifetime, or the end of one, to realise all those years of heartache and pain and loneliness were in vain, when in fact he/she was “the one” and you really were meant for each other?