Ownership in the Love Ultimate

Since submitting my PhD thesis this past Thursday—an accomplishment that I will not be ready to fully take in until I defend it—I have been ruminating on the things that I own, my possessions, the things that are of me, that are mine. The PhD is the quintessential piece of evidence that I have been blessed with an intellect, with a sharp and rational mind. It is this that has made me into the young man of science and letters that I am today. That is unquestionable. My intellect, and the faculties it consists of, are mine. And I am not modest enough to deny that they distinguish me from a fair proportion of people. But, are they the most important things that I possess?

I am not a rich person, or a poor one. I want for nothing and I want nothing—nothing physical I mean, nothing that I can buy. I am quite content with my financial status and will be happy with it as I earn more income in the future (which will happen as a natural consequence of my progressing in my professional career as a scientist and nothing more). So, my things of financial worth, they are not the most important things I have because I don't value them that highly.

But when I think of the people in my life.... The story then changes. What do people (my friends and family I specifically mean here) give me? They give me companionship, friendship, understanding, hope and love. They give me love. I have love. No, I have certain kinds of love, and they are all important to me. But, the most important?

No, not these various kinds of love, but all-encompassing love. The love ultimate. I mean the love of one other (in my case, anyway). The love that I have been searching for since I finally began to understand what it was and that I needed it. You see, everything I own and have gives me tone and nuance. Love, however, gives me meaning. Love, to me, is the most important thing. The only thing I think I really want in my life. The thing that will save me from a life of just tone and nuance. Love is what will free me. Free me from myself—because I am too much of myself. You see, everything and everyone in life constitute things and persons that you interact with, that you have exchanges with. You share these things or you share yourself with others. That, however, is not the case with love, the love I mean. With the love I mean, the love ultimate, you have an ownership that is not just your own: it is an ownership of two parties, you and the one you love. This is very different from all else I've been talking about because love, by definition, cannot be unless it is a thing owned by two others. Therefore, the most important thing for me is not what I have or what I possess. The most important thing is what I and another would possess, would have. Love is not a thing of single possession. It is shared... no–it is co-owned. And that to me is what I desire most, what I want most, what I need most.

M. M. — 28-Feb-2016

Depression (Iteration 1)

I am just built like this, I guess, and
that little fucking voice of mine in
my head is just a consequence of
certain atoms assembling into place,
certain DNA and certain cells
deciding to act up as they wish. Which
would be fine were it not for the
shadows...the shadows...the shadows.
I dwell inside myself, and the walls
are not painted. There are things
scurrying around, somewhere, in the
pitch black. I talk to them quite a lot.
It makes me weary, though. Intensely
so. But at least they talk back. I think
it would be worse if they didn't. Well,
maybe not. But at least the scurrying
things want me. Maybe they love me too?
That wouldn't be so bad, I think.

M. M. — 23-Feb-2016

"What little thing"

What little thing of yours is it that you fight for? That you lie for? What meagre treasure that you clasp so tightly do you shield from the wolves of the world? Is it a woman, a man, a child? Do you bear arms and blow the clarions of war for another? Just some person? Perhaps it is some small thing that you call love for which you build bastions of steel and light across the lands, the seas and the heavens? What paltry thing is it I ask you? That you would cut out your own heart for? That you would end life for? That you are so afraid to acknowledge? You would bring all the world to its termination for this thing, wouldn't you? What then? What is it that holds sway like this? Does it fit in your hands and yet you cannot hold it? What? Tell me? Please.... Please tell me.