The Lady or the Tramp

Working mundanely but peacefully in the garden this morning, I unexpectedly found myself singing this quietly to myself.  It seemed quite apt.


'Why does he do the things he does?

Why does he do these things?
Why does he march
Through that dream that he's in,
Covered with glory and rusty old tin?
Why does he live in a world that can't be,
And what does he want of me...
What does he want of me?

Why does he say the things he says?
Why does he say these things?
"Sweet Dulcinea" and "missive" and such,
"Nethermost hem of thy garment I touch,"
No one can be what he wants me to be,
Oh, what does he want of me...
What does he want of me?

Doesn't he know
He'll be laughed at wherever he'll go?
And why I'm not laughing myself...
I don't know.

Why does he want the things he wants?
Why does he want these things?
Why does he batter at walls that won't break?
Why does he give when it's natural to take?
Where does he see all the good he can see,
And what does he want of me?
What does he want of me?'

This song has always found a connection with me.  Since I was very young.  But I never knew why.  I guess at the time it was due to the beauty of the interplay between words and music.  It's so simple a concept.  And the whole story is inspiring too - which I always saw as a delicious romantic fantasy.

Now, I see that my quest to be a goddess relies heavily on what is wanted.  I can be what he wants me to be - if I know what that is.

And if it is not too high a windmill.

Post script: 
Again with the ps - it's becoming a habit...

Actually, I think this should be about 'What do I want of me?'

'Beauty is unbearable, drives us to despair, offering us for a minute the glimpse of an eternity that we should like to stretch out over the whole of time.' Albert Camus

I hope I’m old enough and may be wise enough, to know that what I think means little to most people.  Just a few chosen ones take steer in my thoughts, and I am so happy that they do, as it – well, validates me.

But of them?  Do they feel validated by my thoughts and approbation?  Do they even need it?  Some will, of course, but not all.  And they are the ones that may actually mean most.

Do the ones who say nothing actually have that respect and love for my thoughts?  If so, why don’t they say it?

How difficult it is to respond to someone’s moment of revelation, suggesting that you might have done the same as an opponent did.  To react in a time of weakness in an extreme fashion?  To push away, rather than draw him to you?  Perhaps not.  But to feel the same, and be saddened in the same way.  It’s almost as though your thoughts were not cared for.  And that would hurt. 

And yet the thoughts are cared for, just some things are not considered as important as others – I truly believe that when needed, it would be told.

There is no question that omission is a form of protection.  If you don’t crystalise it into words – written or verbal, there is a chance that it can be avoided.  For yourself, you hide from what could be – but not accepting that it is, until it is there for real.

By hiding the truth from someone, you do not expose them to it.  
Even if, by hiding – or simply omitting an event from conversation, the other person feels left out.  One should never forget that fear of loss is often greater than the final knowledge of loss. 

And surprise is greater than both for some people.  They can’t handle change, or shock or new facts. It destabilises their world, and they (if they are a controlling nature) cannot handle that they did not control the situation.

Or perhaps it is just a weakness, and selfishness, on the part of the person receiving the news.  Fear is not yours to have.  You will not have to go through the pain, only the fear.  Being protected from pain, is an honour – but not always necessary.  My father omitted several key things of his life, and the revelation was many times more painful than the telling would have been.  The irony is, that I might not exist if he had told the whole truth at the earliest occasion.  I might also have stopped him (or tried to) doing the things he thrived on, if I’d known the truth at the end.  And that was not my place to do. 

I believe I am a different person today.  Although I have been spared from personal tragedy, I hope I have learnt from others.  Listening to stories, and assessing how I might behave in the situation.  I would not stop someone doing what they want.  I would not judge what was right for them, but listen to what they wanted.  For in reality, I have been there too, and suffered alone what slight concern ate at my soul, only to evaporate in the mists of understanding.

I would support in any way possible; and knowing that I would be there for them, hope that they would be able to do a little more, live a little happier, than without me.

It need not be explained, that loneliness will wrench the very flesh out of my chest cavity, dripping with bloody pluralities of anger and despair.  It need never be said that the tears will run torrents like Angel or Victoria or Niagara; but they will, until the springs of heaven run dry.  It can never be adequately discussed that the time was too short, or the distance is too great, or the world is too unworthy.  And all of those will be true.

I just hope that my eyes will show those things, and their heart will know.

The world is so short, and too extreme to explain.  Let us thrash the pants off it, until it fails to fight any more.

Post Script:

I'm a complete contradiction, obviously.  On re-reading this, I see I've discussed myself round in a circle - first saying I want to be told, and then saying how I won't tell someone the very thing I would want to be told. 

It's a quandry, isn't it.  There will be moments when the only thing to do is to spill your verbosity into the share-space; stop time with profound statements and be fluent in literary wonder.  Use allegory and metaphor to describe something that is pain personified.

And yet there would also be times where silence is longed for; where the words stay hidden or locked away in a cavernous emptiness; where you cannot speak, and where words are not wanted.  At such a time, it would be a simple touch of the hand.  Of the face.  That speak volumes.

The one key to getting it 'right', is to know your inner foe and embrace your hidden friend.  And hope that neither run from your side.

The Edge of The Precipice

The Precipice.  Something we all fear.

Or do we?

I saw Richard Burton's interview in 1974 with Parkinson yesterday, and he spoke of it.  Being there, and knowing that he really didn't want to go on.  A man so desperately in love with his ex wife, and finding the separation impossible to handle.  He would not say a bad word about her.  Could not, even.  Such pain and tortured love.

Such a private man.  So poignant, the thoughts of someone so overtly unconcerned by what anyone thought, and yet hiding, not really knowing how to express himself.

I don't know why this should have effected me so much.  But it did.  He spoke of the decision to not be a part of the world any more, just before he disappeared into a bottle.  Several bottles.  Although denying that he was trying to kill himself.

It seemed a very black place to be, and yet somewhere that rang a bell.  As though I've been there, or had been there with him, holding hands and saying "shall we jump"?  It's not really a conscious thought, or desire, just a question.  Almost as though it is just one of a number of things you could choose at that point.  Standing there, looking.  Slightly scared, and yet very unconcerned.

Whilst I stand there though, I am not trying to get him to stop, attempting to comfort him and help him - it is his life and he can do what he pleases with it.  As with everyone - it is their choice how they behave.  What right do any of us have to influence another?  Even if it is to stop someone taking their own life.  It is theirs to choose, isn't it.

And how wonderful to have someone that you love that much.  Or more than one love, in any number of relationships.

What age or illness does to us - surely it is our own choice when we've had enough.

Not me though, not today.  I may be exploring the cliff, but it is from a distance, and there is no one on it anyway.  Not today.