“But already my desire and my will
were being turned like a wheel, all at one speed,
by the Love which moves the sun and the other stars.” Paradiso- Divine Comedy (Dante)
The love that moves the sun… ahhh. How often does a love that could be described in this way come along? Once in a lifetime? Two or three times? Surely no more than can be counted on the fingers of one hand. In Dante’s Paradiso, where this quote comes from, Dante likens this phrase to mean the allegorical journey of the soul’s ascent to god. Although this phrase is being utilised in a slightly different way here, it does not seem like such a massive leap: the experience of true love can absolutely be compared to the soul’s ascent to god. One of my favourite bands, the now defunct Sian Alice Group, has an absolutely stunning song entitled ‘Love That Moves The Sun‘ from their brilliant album, Troubled, Shaken, Etc. Highly recommended, if you like music.
The very few times that I have come into contact with this sort of divine connection, I have recognised it in a heartbeat instant, from the very second that I have gazed into eternity as I looked into the eyes of my future beloved. Admittedly, it has to be said, that this assertion does sound like the ravings of a deranged madwoman. Call it women’s intuition (for those among you who have not yet experienced this phenomena firsthand, you will just have to take our collective word for it from those of us that have), or, if you prefer, call it the ravings of a deranged madwoman. Either way, am pretty certain that most would agree that the occurrence of a love that moves the sun and other stars, that moves you to the depth of your being, that you would move heaven to the end of the earth for, and, for most of us, comes along only about as often as Halley’s Comet. For others, it would seem, this love only happens the once (see my parents, below).
Earlier this year, I was (un)lucky enough to stumble into what I felt sure was that specific brand of true love. Upon meeting this particularly impressive specimen of manhood, after a phase of whirlwind courtship, of romancing and love letters, he had all but convinced me to hand him my heart on a platter. Not long after, the man demonstrated what he called ‘a quiet retreat’, leaving nothing but emails in his wake. We did not meet again, we never even spoke on the telephone to say goodbye. Men, in case you do not know this already, email is not a sufficient mode of communication for the brave boys that we terrifying women know that you are capable of being. Anyway, these last five months or so, I have been living in expectant hope that if true love was meant to be then it would be; was wasting precious months living under the false delusion that if only we were to meet again our love would be rekindled. Felt like I just had to see him again to decide if I was making the whole thing up in my mind or if it really was true love, the real thing. All along he has refused the request to meet or even speak with the following excuses: ‘My life is unfortunately not endowed with the free time to start the relationship of the century’, ‘I am not in a position to take things further’ (what does that even mean?), ‘It would be difficult to meet or even speak on the phone for the reasons you have mentioned (my assertion that if we met, what is between us would be undeniable).
It has now become painfully apparent to me that far from the hermetic isolation to which he claimed he was quietly retreating, the only possible explanation (that I have finally been able to draw) is that there must be another, stronger force of love in his life, pulling him, with planetary-like attraction, in their direction. Quite where he is going to find another singing, writing, entrepreneurial, sassy and sweet ex-supermodel with a fathomless wit, a bad attitude, a heart of gold, and an IQ of 142, who is a whore in the kitchen, a cook in the living room and a maid in the bedroom, who loves like I do, is beyond me. Best of luck with that, Jonathan.
My love lies bleeding, this old heart is bruised, but its still breathing. As is always the way with these things, its easy to wonder now how I will ever meet anyone I will love again. A dear friend, ten years my junior, has recently had his heart broken for the first time. As we sat at the dinner table and I attempted to console him, I remembered the feeling of that first major heartbreak and how you feel convinced that you will never love again. It struck me how, even with the hindsight that experience brings, it is still possible, not only to feel fresh heartbreak and to feel sure that the truest of loves has exited your life, but also eventually to have the capacity to love again. Perhaps as humans we are programmed to forget precisely in order so that we are able to do just that; perhaps (not unlike the phenomenon of women forgetting the excruciating pain of childbirth) the survival of the human race depends on this eternal sunshine of the spotless mind.
Apparently, when it rains it pours, the moon pulls the tides; the water has been a-rising and lately my heart has been getting thrashed in the tumultuous waves of life. I could go into detail but I do realise how it sounds for someone so blessed (clean water, walk and talk, health, family and freedom) to square up the gifthorse in the mouth and share such personal heartbreak, and perhaps I should not be quite so open about expressing my pain in the public domain. If you are reading this and you know that you are among one of the relatively few soul connections that I have had in my eventful life: friends, family, lovers, please act on this knowledge and get in touch, I would love to hear from you now. After all, it is at the most a handful of true love that comes along in a life- that rarest of all of life’s gifts- the love that moves the sun.
Sending you all my love that moves the sun and other stars. XOXO