Does She Love You?

The world ought not to be a harmonious loving place. It ought to be a place of fierce discord and intermittent harmonies: which it is. Love ought not to be perfect. It ought to have perfect moments, and wildernesses of thorn bushes. Which it has. A “perfect” relationship ought not to be possible. Every relationship should have its absolute limits, its absolute reserves, essential to the singleness of the soul in each person. A truly perfect relationship is one in which each party leaves great tracts unknown in the other party.” – D.H. Lawrence, “Studies in Classic American Literature”

Men with mystic mindsets are a superstitious sort, especially when it comes to women. As they well should. Had we a little more scrutiny toward Eve in Eden or a little more responsibility to God after, we might still be in the garden naming wondrous beasts. We fear that power however, as to name it is to claim it. McCarthy says the same in Outer Dark, for to name is it to claim it and if you don’t name it then “you cain’t talk about it even.” Modern men, being gnostics of another notion, can’t even name their own own relationships with women, and thus cannot claim them.

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