Haiku

 

From last year in AZ. I keep wanting to buy sunflowers here, but all the ones I have seen look awful

A sort of amusing meme resurfaced thanks to FB memories, this morning. 

And this reminded me of someone I knew whose partner didn't know what haiku was, and they had this visceral reaction that, really, they just needed to get out of the partnership. Some of you instantly know this moment, and it makes perfect sense. Others might find it weird, or an overreaction, or perhaps fundamentally unkind. Why not just explain to one's partner what a haiku is? 

All well and good. But some know the beleaguered experience of having to explain jokes to the person with whom one spends the majority of one's time. My own long term thing with A that ended in 2017 was characterized by these missed references, tiresome moments where she "just didn't get it," and me telling myself it was okay, it wasn't that big of a deal, but feeling more and more lonely. 

The plain truth is that there's a real fundamental benefit to two people sharing common cultural knowledge. There's no imperative to be with people who don't know what we know, who don't "get it." Preferences are very real and completely indifferent to ethics. I agree that this person could have just educated their partner as to what haiku is. But there's also just that resonance that two people have. I think the moment for this person was more of a final straw kind of thing. There are these huge abysses that open up between two unsuitable partners sometimes where it suddenly becomes very very clear just how unsuited they are, and sometimes it is some of these seemingly "small" things. 

Also, as Carl Jung and others have pointed out, erotic and romantic love plays a cruel joke on us, as it presents the beloved in an idealized form, where we find even their most glaring deficiencies and actual character flaws, let alone the weird ways in which they are just annoying, to be charming and attractive, or at least we think we can overlook these realities. When the charged atmosphere of eros wears off, what we start to long for, in addition to continued passion, is a more authentic friendship connection with our beloved, and there's a deeper kind of resonance that becomes more important. I think most of us if not all have had the utterly astonishing experience of "waking up next to someone" and suddenly feeling that surreal tumble into the dread of knowing with absolute certainty that we feel like can't bear another day with them, in spite of the fact that, early on, they were our raison d'etre and our delight. This goes to the core of the unethical and even cruel nature of eros, as it has been so accurately depicted in all stories and tales. Sometimes these moments of astonishing clarity, and that sudden truth of the fundamental unsuitability of someone with whom we have thrown in our lot, are the worst moments of our lives. I think this may be especially true for women in cis het relationships, as the patriarchy enforces "commitments" more severely for women in a wide variety of ways. 

Sometimes it is some odd thing, like a person saying "I don't get it," and the entire abyss of loneliness, unsuitability, longing, anger, resentment, annoyance, bewilderment, and  the terror of being "trapped" all come tumbling in. For a few months with A, I didn't even know what was going on, consciously, but I do recall trying to take a nap one afternoon and lying there in bed, thinking to myself, "this can't go on. I cannot keep doing this. This can't go on." I didn't even know what "this" was referring to. My denial was thick. 

The pier in Ocean Beach, three years ago

The person whose exasperation reached some kind of inscrutable limit found ways to continue the partnership, and I think many people do. There are all sorts of ways people rediscover things they initially appreciated, bathed in that weird numinous glow of eros, and those qualities are still there, and still admirable. Forgiveness is huge. A friend of mine says, "The only healthy relationship is reciprocal mercy." I appreciate that. I have never been the recipient, nor the practitioner, at least not for more than about five years. 

Another pic of the pier in Ocean Beach from 2017

Being sort of demisexual (? semi-demisexual?), I am usually not even capable of feeling sexual attraction, let alone flat out heart squashing, bone powdering eros, if the fundamental connections are not present. Similar sense of humor, getting it without explaining, friendly likes and dislikes (within reason), that resonance energy. Very important. It is what turns me on. Then I fall in love. Then the problems start, because, it turns out, I was maybe ignoring some of the lack of resonance. I think my denial around this is fiercely low right now. I am not ignoring anything. But in the past, I used to imagine all sorts of connection when it was not there. How do I know it was not there? When the charge of eros wore off, it turned out that basic abysses were indeed present.

CW: trite analogy. It's as if the heart has a blind spot, like the optic disc, and when we are in love, we perform a ton of optical filling, but when things get more real or familiar and less charged, we stop doing so much optical filling. The only difference in this analogy is that instead of seeing that annoying blind spot everywhere, we see more clearly. Nothing new here. Just the usual meditation on the disillusionment that is somewhere at the core of every human relationship that's worth having. How people navigate that disillusionment is what stories get a lot of juice from. 

I have also been made aware over the past decade or so tha not everyone really gives a shit, so much. For me, losing a partnership is like a death. I feel similar ways to when someone dies. I used to think this was universally the case, but I have learned it is not, not at all. Many people wear their connections with others much more lightly. I am wired for a heavier experience. 

After a Death

by Tomas Tranströmer 

translated by Robert Bly

Once there was a shock

that left behind a long, shimmering comet tail.

It keeps us inside. It makes the TV pictures snowy.

It settles in cold drops on the telephone wires.

One can still go slowly on skis in the winter sun

through brush where a few leaves hang on.

They resemble pages torn from old telephone directories.

Names swallowed by the cold.

It is still beautiful to hear the heart beat

but often the shadow seems more real than the body.

The samurai looks insignificant

beside his armor of black dragon scales.