In Search of a Fairy Tale

… and what the dewdrop calls the end
the Master calls a new day…
But what of the dewdrop when it melts
is absorbed by the earth and
everlastingly lost to itself and obscure now
to the world?
And what of the leaf which had clung
to the dewdrop,
- the possibility of love -
for when love broke through the fog
the dewdrop evanesced into its heat
And left the leaf
lonelier, if possible, than before.

[With apologies to Mr Bach, for distorting the original "what the caterpillar calls the end/ the Master calls a butterfly".]

What happens when a year, a decade, a millennium, a moment, or a relationship, [or to be honest, the possibility of a relationship], comes to an end?

That's what most relationships are, aren't they? They contain the possibility of relating, the seeds of relationship, just as life brings with it the possibility of living. Who can say with complete confidence and assurance that they have a relationship, a rock-solid one which is unshakable in the storm? Who can say without hesitation that they are really LIVING, not merely existing, from sunrise to sunrise? Who has found love that came with a "guarantee" sticker? Who has found immortality, the possibility of endless living? Mostly, love and life come with a "use by date". And even if, as sometimes happens, the relationship goes on till the physical end of life of one or the other, who knows how deeply they related at all? That they didn't spend many years losing themselves in the habit of co-habiting, where questioning the foundation they think is rock-solid would have exposed fissures that run deep into the earth that seemingly grounds them? That didn't go from one chore to the next without wondering "why am I doing this" till the final moment of truth when they had to face the question "Did I really live"?

What may happen then, is that you are left with a panorama of memories, visions if you like, of scents, textures, sounds and togetherness. You may find yourself reaching for the vision only to have it dissolve in your arms. You can choose to erase, efface or even deface those memories - for hidden underneath that warm, remembered glow, is pain born of the longing for it to repeat itself. You can choose to step back, step out, step away, but are inexorably drawn into the longing again and again and again. But the moment is gone, the chance lost, and neither love nor life really offer you second chances. You can, of course, frame the memories and look at them from time to time to help with a desolate present.

There are those who look carefully at the "use by date" and consciously create memories to sustain them in the future. They are able to live entirely in the present, ignore any intruding thoughts of consequences, and in the final analysis are able to enjoy the snapshots because they came with the fore-knowledge of the fore-told ending. They do not approach opportunities with hopeless hope that anything on this earth is but ephemeral. They are secure in the knowledge of the epitaphs on their tombstones: "He lived, whenever he could; he loved, whenever he could; at all other times, he was useful and productive." They have the wisdom to live entire lifetimes in just a few moments, the ability to find meaning in life as it comes to them and not reach out to life and imbue it with meaning. They have my sincere, humble and heartfelt admiration.

But what if you are not equipped with that wisdom or ability? Perhaps you choose to climb into the tower, lock the door and throw away the key. For, you're not going to let your hair down for just anyone who comes riding by; you will only let it down for the Wicked Witch called "loneliness".

And, of course, you forget in such painful moments, that after sunset the soothing night will rise again, bringing with it perhaps another dewdrop or two, another hope that in spite of the loneliness of most parts of the journey there is always the possibility of a relationship; that in spite of the lifelessness of existence, there is always the possibility of living it.

You can, finally, choose to approach the situation armed with your omnipresent sense of humour: laugh at human follies and the fallacy of assumption; grin at the way in which this fairy tale ended. Oh yes, I've written some really weird endings to many fairy tales - ones in which the princess kissed the prince and he turned into the Toad, or the Beast; ones in which he flew off and crashed his plane leaving the princess wondering "what if"; and, of course, the ones in which the prince rode off into the sunset to rule his kingdom of chores!

And you smile indulgently at the heart's need to keep on writing fairy tales! May the future, then, be prolific....