True Love

> From this.

True love is a love that is meant to be, beyond the imagination of all the storybook writers. It was never meant to be for us, one might posit, like unto a Platonic ideal from which all other loves are shadows of it. It is pretty much understood that it has never once surfaced in the waking world, no Cinderella, no Snow White, not for real. We have grown to accept it, that’s reality. A real-life prince is not like what the cartoons imply one is. There is no fairy godmother, and the pumpkin remains a pumpkin. Yet we will still seek it out, the romantics of us. Every once in a while, one of us to find someone with whom we think we have it: love, true love. Even if somewhere very far buried is the voice that says no, that actually isn’t what we were talking about. (So what, right? Close enough.)

A love that is truly meant to be is the reward we all seek, but we will find that we on this world are involved not in the destination, only the journey. Along the way, we will find meaning here and there, and we will find love that is “meant to be,” of a sort; but the meaning in true love, the love divine — this is stuff not to be comprehended while still within the sphere of the material. This world was not meant for that kind of crown. Only transcendent can such love exist, and it is too huge for the entire world to hold. Thus in the idea that there is a meaning of life: one believes, dreams that there is some formula or philosophy or poetry, but we will always be short of inventing one that is really satisfying. Because the meaning of life is in love’s true fulfillment, and none of us will ever know it, in this world. Not to say in settling for what we get, here and now, that we are getting nothing. It’s just that there is more than meets the eye. You’ll see.

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