Love song lyrics aren’t really about love--they’re about mental illness.
That’s one of the themes brought up in Sex at Dawn, and I must say I’m thrilled that somebody else--somebody with real publishing power--has noticed that, too. Case in point: the Police, Every Breath You Take. Any number of breakup songs that attempt to deny a lover’s power and autonomy to leave (Faithless--Don’t Leave), or feebly explain away personal bad behavior (Rihanna--Unfaithful). I can’t speak for everyone, but I’m creeped out by the concept that someone might fixate on me to the point of holding me against my will. I would say that has more to do with the nature of the possessive lover than the unique charms of the person they won’t let go.
Put very elegantly by a friend of mine to his spouse: I don’t care what you want, because I’m romantic.
The reverse applies as well. All kinds of artists have muses who “inspire” their greatest works. But great artists also have talent. No matter how wonderful the muse, they can only enable the mediocre artist to produce mediocre work; it’s practice that will convert mediocre talent to greatness. Once again, a particular lover might inspire the nuances or energy of a piece of art, but ultimately, the finished product comes from the artist in a manner that is consistent with their style. The unique quality of a muse might simply be connection with someone who happens to be a great artist.
Similarly, I’m beginning to think the nature of love has a lot more to do with the person giving it than the person receiving it. Sure, there’s particular chemistry between two people, but that chemistry is colored by each person’s style.
I was on a trip with my non-spousal primary, and the house where we were staying had some aromatic soap. Smells, of course, tie in closely with memories, and when I washed my hands, I felt a rush of love. Powerful, comfortable, long-standing Love rather than that crush I still remember whenever I smell that college quarterback’s cologne.
Interestingly, I couldn’t tell to whom my smell-induced love was directed. It wasn’t my spouse; I was at least aware of all the soap-procurement decisions in our house, even if I didn’t make them myself. It wasn’t my secondary, because he doesn’t like anything aromatic and wouldn’t have put up with something that strong. And it wasn’t my non-spousal primary, because I could detect a difference between what I was experiencing in the moment and what I was remembering.
After another day or so, I remembered the context where I had used that soap before. It was from a time when my spouse and I were not living together, but we visited each other frequently. My spouse was living in a place where I was much less acutely aware of the soap-procurement decisions, but where I had still spent enough time for the smell to burn itself into my memory. Still, what first came back to me was the particular flavor of energy, compassion, and happiness I felt at the time, not the individual muse who was inspiring it.
It may sound impersonal, but in fact, I find it comforting. If love depends more on the person giving it than the person receiving it, it seems a lot more likely to be unconditional. And unconditional love feels safe.
I fell for my non-spousal primary much faster than I usually do, and one of the reasons I can detect is that his regard had almost nothing to do with me. Instead, it seemed to come from within him and be directed towards anyone who could catch it. My job was simply to detect, acknowledge, and accept it. Sure, he was curious about me and the many ways our minds work differently from each other, and even the first unflattering thing he discovered about me got framed in terms of intrigue or even an appreciation for my wholeness and complexity. But I never felt like I was being tested.
Because he was so well practiced in love (he’s one of the ones who’s still in love with all of his exes and therefore makes an empathetic and non-jealous poly partner), or has such good instincts, I felt like there was almost nothing I could do to drive him away. Nor was there anything he would do to convince me to stay if I went away myself; that would simply be a consequence of my failure to accept and appreciate his regard. I certainly don't want to test either of those hypotheses. But the idea that his particular flavor of love comes from within him, and doesn’t depend on any action on my part, made falling for him feel safe. There’s a lot of potential for creativity when one doesn’t feel evaluated.
I also like the idea that love is mine to give, not necessarily something I need to seek out and find if I want that energy, compassion, and happiness. If it’s mine, I also get to control the quantity, the quality, and the directionality. I simply seem to send it in more directions than most.
*****
Questions or comments? I’ve got opinions! Ask away at polysaturated@rocketmail.com.
That’s one of the themes brought up in Sex at Dawn, and I must say I’m thrilled that somebody else--somebody with real publishing power--has noticed that, too. Case in point: the Police, Every Breath You Take. Any number of breakup songs that attempt to deny a lover’s power and autonomy to leave (Faithless--Don’t Leave), or feebly explain away personal bad behavior (Rihanna--Unfaithful). I can’t speak for everyone, but I’m creeped out by the concept that someone might fixate on me to the point of holding me against my will. I would say that has more to do with the nature of the possessive lover than the unique charms of the person they won’t let go.
Put very elegantly by a friend of mine to his spouse: I don’t care what you want, because I’m romantic.
The reverse applies as well. All kinds of artists have muses who “inspire” their greatest works. But great artists also have talent. No matter how wonderful the muse, they can only enable the mediocre artist to produce mediocre work; it’s practice that will convert mediocre talent to greatness. Once again, a particular lover might inspire the nuances or energy of a piece of art, but ultimately, the finished product comes from the artist in a manner that is consistent with their style. The unique quality of a muse might simply be connection with someone who happens to be a great artist.
Similarly, I’m beginning to think the nature of love has a lot more to do with the person giving it than the person receiving it. Sure, there’s particular chemistry between two people, but that chemistry is colored by each person’s style.
I was on a trip with my non-spousal primary, and the house where we were staying had some aromatic soap. Smells, of course, tie in closely with memories, and when I washed my hands, I felt a rush of love. Powerful, comfortable, long-standing Love rather than that crush I still remember whenever I smell that college quarterback’s cologne.
Interestingly, I couldn’t tell to whom my smell-induced love was directed. It wasn’t my spouse; I was at least aware of all the soap-procurement decisions in our house, even if I didn’t make them myself. It wasn’t my secondary, because he doesn’t like anything aromatic and wouldn’t have put up with something that strong. And it wasn’t my non-spousal primary, because I could detect a difference between what I was experiencing in the moment and what I was remembering.
After another day or so, I remembered the context where I had used that soap before. It was from a time when my spouse and I were not living together, but we visited each other frequently. My spouse was living in a place where I was much less acutely aware of the soap-procurement decisions, but where I had still spent enough time for the smell to burn itself into my memory. Still, what first came back to me was the particular flavor of energy, compassion, and happiness I felt at the time, not the individual muse who was inspiring it.
It may sound impersonal, but in fact, I find it comforting. If love depends more on the person giving it than the person receiving it, it seems a lot more likely to be unconditional. And unconditional love feels safe.
I fell for my non-spousal primary much faster than I usually do, and one of the reasons I can detect is that his regard had almost nothing to do with me. Instead, it seemed to come from within him and be directed towards anyone who could catch it. My job was simply to detect, acknowledge, and accept it. Sure, he was curious about me and the many ways our minds work differently from each other, and even the first unflattering thing he discovered about me got framed in terms of intrigue or even an appreciation for my wholeness and complexity. But I never felt like I was being tested.
Because he was so well practiced in love (he’s one of the ones who’s still in love with all of his exes and therefore makes an empathetic and non-jealous poly partner), or has such good instincts, I felt like there was almost nothing I could do to drive him away. Nor was there anything he would do to convince me to stay if I went away myself; that would simply be a consequence of my failure to accept and appreciate his regard. I certainly don't want to test either of those hypotheses. But the idea that his particular flavor of love comes from within him, and doesn’t depend on any action on my part, made falling for him feel safe. There’s a lot of potential for creativity when one doesn’t feel evaluated.
I also like the idea that love is mine to give, not necessarily something I need to seek out and find if I want that energy, compassion, and happiness. If it’s mine, I also get to control the quantity, the quality, and the directionality. I simply seem to send it in more directions than most.
*****
Questions or comments? I’ve got opinions! Ask away at polysaturated@rocketmail.com.
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