A certain knight...
Though I am old with wandering
Through hollow lands and hilly lands
I will find out where she has gone
And kiss her lips, and take her hands,
And walk among long dappled grass
And pluck til time and times are done
The silver apples of the moon
The golden apples of the sun.
—W. B. Yeats
Saturday night a week ago my beloved was still a partner. Just sixteen days ago, she said she would marry me. Ten days, that she hoped to come live with me. Today she again takes the shape of a quest. The Bluebird of Happiness flies away, always, at the end of the play. A new chapter of life opens. A pilgrimage for my love. How long did the old knights travel? How long did Lancelot ride in his ignominious charrette?
I feel my nerves tightening to face the months or years ahead. The tricky part of my quest, of course, is that my only reward may be for her to understand at last that she was so loved to this degree. That another human could live for her when she was not able to offer the same in return. I hope the next years will illustrate to her the seriousness of my regard. I hope for the chance to give her every felicity. But it is equally likely that she will find me boring, or a nuisance, or foolish. If I'm a fool, at any rate, I'm in good company.
What will she think of being my quest? Will she think I'm a zombie you just can't keep down? Or will she eventually welcome me as spring coming over the fields, as evening falling down from the mountains, bringing peace?
I will find out where she has gone
And kiss her lips, and take her hands,
And walk among long dappled grass
And pluck til time and times are done
The silver apples of the moon
The golden apples of the sun.
—W. B. Yeats
Saturday night a week ago my beloved was still a partner. Just sixteen days ago, she said she would marry me. Ten days, that she hoped to come live with me. Today she again takes the shape of a quest. The Bluebird of Happiness flies away, always, at the end of the play. A new chapter of life opens. A pilgrimage for my love. How long did the old knights travel? How long did Lancelot ride in his ignominious charrette?
I feel my nerves tightening to face the months or years ahead. The tricky part of my quest, of course, is that my only reward may be for her to understand at last that she was so loved to this degree. That another human could live for her when she was not able to offer the same in return. I hope the next years will illustrate to her the seriousness of my regard. I hope for the chance to give her every felicity. But it is equally likely that she will find me boring, or a nuisance, or foolish. If I'm a fool, at any rate, I'm in good company.
What will she think of being my quest? Will she think I'm a zombie you just can't keep down? Or will she eventually welcome me as spring coming over the fields, as evening falling down from the mountains, bringing peace?
I do not know how to arrange and plan a quest. It's not a marketing plan, certainly. If I could honorably court her, I would—remind her of my hand within hers, my arms around her. Tell her how even now I think of her and find it hard to escape a trance of desire. But I can't do that, because my lady has asked it, and it's her privilege to ask anything of me and receive my obedience. So I must use this quest to reflect on my entire being and, perhaps, on hers.
What is happiness?
What is it to live for someone?
How can I balance in my mind a complete and ferocious attention to winning her at last, with an absolute acceptance of a future in which she is never mine?
It feels like a dancing skill—a movement principle I draw on a lot. Balance/fall.
It feels like a dancing skill—a movement principle I draw on a lot. Balance/fall.
What are the success conditions for a quest for another human soul?
Not possession, certainly.
Nor to be possessed.
Everything is gray, and to tell the truth I'm in a lot of pain.
Which is as good a way as any to begin.
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