I’ve been wondering if in fact ideal platonic love isn’t just an intensely concentrated form of what inspires the best teachers.― Edmund Marlowe
And, it does inspire; to be, to be what it takes to be in love, to long and to set yourself free. To be able to be what one is, to care and to nurture a feeling within that holds something that isn’t governed by the convention of the real world. Hard it is to find such an affair, for it isn’t just a fling that sparks and burns out with time, it stays; stays put, keeps burning and keeps manifesting; often into art and at times into a pull that self-navigates itself. No rudderless ship it is, no shipwreck in the soul’s island. It holds, steadfast it is; the glue that binds the mind in place.
And, it happened; a pull and a surrender, for the heart was long lost and now it was time; time for the soul to seek and fall in love. The true beauty of it lied not in the individual but on the mere idea of someone, somewhere. No sense of urgency, no emotional hangover; just a backpack of resolve on the mind’s shoulders, now broadened by the existence of an idea of someone to light up the path that lied ahead, just an idea; a notion of being into someone. No ordinary confluence it was; the soul now in unison with the mind: wandering and seeking something that is beyond the understanding of the heart.
Hard it is to come across such an idea, let alone romancing the same; no trace of reality in this realm. To hold and to forge something out of nothing is no ordinary exercise. A feeling that is regenerative. The ability to feel and to be in love in this case is beyond reciprocation, beyond having a response: emotional or physical, just the awareness about the existence of someone, somewhere; who is in tune and in sync to the idea of the someone that your mind is leading you towards. Not a figment of imagination it is, it is the imagination in itself that manifests into something surreal no matter how unreal it is.
To be, to feel and to realize the essence of something that doesn’t thrive upon generic perception is at times difficult. They say: “It sounds too bookish”, but then; it is an art that the mind crafts all by itself, the pull of something that is so alluring, it leaves no space for further contemplation, to fall or to rise, or to just be. Be and it is, the mind transfixed and so is the soul, longing for just that calm, the calm that sets in when there remains no earthly control over the resolution of one’s desires.
And, inspiring it is; feeding the mind with rivulets of an unknown charm; making it possible for one to believe in the healing prowess of actually being in love. Love, but not anything like it; not bound and blinded by the wants of the physical world. The needs finally making sense, the wants nowhere in picture. The lack of companionship not ailing anything, so much like love, but nothing like it. And, nothing it is, nothing in real; but far more real than anything magnified under the lenses of reality can be.
A feeling, an idea or just a notion, maybe someone: a figment of my imagination, is now taking control. The mind’s rudder now anchoring the ship of my soul, the tides of life hitting high and low, I will hit the deck and float ashore; swiveling the swells that I come across. Love it is, may not be. Yes, it is Platonic, now I see…
abhishek purkayastha 