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Tuesday, February 11, 2014

I Have No Credibility On This Issue

I have utterly no standing to complain about the crass commercialization of St. Valentine's Day, since I literally bought into it. Ahem. If I say any more...well, you know. I would say I'm impulsive, but I'm not. Direct? Indeed. Unabashedly prodigal in my expressions of appreciation? Yes.

I can still remember Valentine's Day, 2002. It's not my fault I have a thing for words, and beautiful women. I wrote a poem. It was a bad poem, but a poem, nonetheless. Money doesn't grow on trees, you know. But words well up in our hearts.

I'm no longer as young as I used to be, but The Game is still the same. Let her know that the world is a dreary place without her, and see if she thinks the same of you, maybe enough to spent a solid 50 or 60 years talking it over.

Even when you "win," gentlemen, The Game never ends. Why would I want the sexual conquest of many women, when the mystery of one is enough to occupy a man for his whole life? Tell me that, world. Tell me why the pursuit of my own pleasure leaves me empty, and yet, you insist on continuing to try selling it to me?

The Game calls me ever higher, to a plane even higher than itself, to The Other, who holds us both in being. He is the fullness of all we seek; every joy, every pleasure of this life is but a pale echo of being in Him. True, but a truth that hangs, abiding in Someone else.

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