There are many doors through which we may leave the Garden. Once we’ve left, there is no door through which we can ever return.
(From the Film La Vallée, 1972.)
Shakespeare wrote alot about innocence.Seeing how often his works are filled with violence and tragedy, I suppose it should not be a great surprise he was obsessed with the notion of purity of spirit.
Just when I think I can't be thrown off by a simple comment, can't be startled by how I am seen by others, fate steps in a gives me a big ol' slap round the head for being as egotistical as to think myself above surprise.
The boi apparently is of the opinion that I am an innocent. Not that I occasionally display a moment of innocence, but that i am on some deeper-set level, so profoundly innocent as to be unable to see or accept for myself how integrained this innocence is to who I am.
I don't understand how this can be. How can someone so close to me, someone who knows me so intensely, someone who is aware of all my backgorund, proclaim me an innocent? I long ago stepped through that door, nailing it shut behind me, freeing from the garden. And it from me.
Worrysome that this non existant innocence is a large part of why he loves me. Someday the fool will figure out that what he sees just is not there.
Chaste; Free of sin. . I have a hard time acepting that these things apply to me as a person. I've endured things so beyond the scope of most sane people that it somehow got bottled and remains in my memory, but pushed aside, partitioned off...there, but as though i observed it rather then experienced it. And I'm not without guilt. I've made mistakes. Some fairly major mistakes in the very recent past still have me coming to terms with an immense sense of blame.
"Innocence can be redefined and called stupidity. Honesty can be called gullibility. Candor becomes lack of common sense. Interest in your work can be called cowardice. Generosity can be called soft-headedness, and observe : the former is disturbing,"
(Abraham Maslow, philosopher and psychologist, 1908-1970.)
On another level, I find it amusing that I can't get my head around it all. Cause I am certain if he were to see how I think of him, he would be similarly floored. And innocence would once more work it's way into the conversation.
Perhaps it is an inescapable aspect of love; we are all driven to see loved ones as having a childlike quality of pureness, of vulnerability. Maybe we are all arrogant enough as to cast ourselvs in the role of protector, believing ourselvs capable not only of nurturing our own essence, but self aggrandize and imagine others as being so without ability that they need us to step in and cultivate their personal growth as well.
Occasional moments of naivete, I am certainly victim to such lapses in judgement. Time and time again I repeat mistakes of my past, certin that this time I have a better solution, the magical key that will alter the outcome; the ability to fix everything.
But i don't think that makes me innocent. Just stubborn.
Give me credit give me trust, give me love in small amounts.
Give me guilt and give me shame, give me life and don't explain.
Give me sex, responsibility and trade my hope for doubt.
Give me more, make me your whore,
and give me, give me, give me pain.
Tell me why you put me through this,
Tell me what's a girl to do,
Tell me where the action is.
Wet my taste and let me down.
Tell me what the future holds,
Tell me what's left of this soul,
Hold me down and fuck me over,
Stain this precious wedding gown
Innocence Lost
(From Innocence Lost, By Lust on the album Jezabel Thirteen Three)
No comments:
Post a Comment