the lost man chronicles
book two: the art of love

one at a time

when you become everyone else and the hero,
it is hard to love anyone but your omnipresent self.
as you begin your journey, traveling nowhere but toward home
you cannot help but love alone and ponder the futility,
the inherent frailty, and the hubris of monogamy.
as if! as if we were each created so special
that there exists someone for each one of us
whose design was to wait, to anticipate, and yearn
just like you have done throughout
your travels of getting to know Her.
how utterly and ludicrously vane! how insane!
and comical the concept!

someone spatial and musically inclined once told me:
"there are as many kinds of love
as there are people in the world."
naturally, i agreed.
and indeed i would expand the count exponentially.
for if how and why and who we love
differs with individuality itself,
and each of the individuals we love might love
each one of us and others quite differently,
than love is most certainly a many splendored thing.

and to think love is also never constant,
as it is evolving as the person who loves,
evolving being loving with the ev,
Eve being all women and womankind,
which without the e, at anytime makes her
the only woman one lonely man
inclined to know and understand Her
can truly love. one woman, one love, one at a time.

"Woman is the guide to the sublime acme of sensuous adventure. By deficient eyes she is reduced to inferior states; by the evil eye of ignorance she is spellbound to banality and ugliness. But she is redeemed by the eyes of understanding. The hero who can take her as she is, without undue commotion but with the kindness and assurance she requires, is potentially the king, the incarnate god, of her created world."

~ The Hero With a Thousand Faces, Joseph Campbell

the art of living the art of living the beginning the art of love the art of love

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