Samuel Beckett: “If you do not love me I shall not be loved. If I do not love you I shall not love.”
In this conveys the sacrifice not of man to woman nor vice versa but of us, humanity, to the passions which oft times our rationality would refuse. For what is Love…and in this I do beseech you… patience, for truly there is no answer; but that here, right now, and in the understanding of words and the depth of emotion, some have tried to answer, tried to commend with thought that which rejects all reason…and yet it is our very reason which we would offer up as sacrifice to the greater wealth of Love…for yes, man, woman, humanity, could no longer relish its existence but that it would converge upon the greater plateau, as somehow we perceive it, and thereon it would allow us relinquishment, it would tease us to falter, doubt, then continue…this place defined not as the altar, nor as the tomb, but the essence of all things. What is Love if in truth it cannot be and not be, if it cannot live and unlive, if it cannot draw from you the listener a certain rush to stale sobriety, cynicism perhaps veiled. What is Love if it cannot defend itself against the very things which it purports to describe. For Love must be more than these and all words. Love must be a bore when it is bandied about in rhetoric. Love, by its own volition, negates itself but that it is felt to within an inch of its loss, for Love is all that we don’t have in a moment. Love is not regret! Love is not memory…these things already define themselves. Love is everything and cannot be rendered, divided, shared. Love is whole, complete, infinite. Love is!
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