Life, love and madness

Life!
From way up there in the sky we are small and insignificant as ants in myriad tunnels. We are small splashes of color on Google maps at its greatest zoom as we scurry about meeting people and falling in love with them. Most of are lives are about finding or living in one or more of the various aspects of love. But over there on the other side of the slope is the downside and the slippery side that we all fear and dread. Over there is the losing or falling out of love and when we part, the parallel and intertwining paths of joy we both loved part ways and wander off in different and often meaningless directions. Their legacy is to leave their marks upon us always for us to remember them by. Memories burned and seared into our minds branding those moments possessively as their time and their influence in our lives. Our lovers mold us and fold us and shape us into something different than we were before. They color our canvas and they define us for better or for worse until we are merely nothing more than the tokens in a game and the next move is determined by the outcome of the dice falling across our lives.
While we are together we can conceive of no other condition and enjoy and accept that the definition of mutualism is all about 'us.' But sometimes the Gods forget to smile and the dice fall badly or even into a place where we can't see them and extracting solitary individualism is a truly painful process. After the parting we might be scarred but we are stronger...
...Or we are more fragile or needy or angry or guilty but never are we unchanged, as we were.
Our past lovers persist and remain inside us like phantoms haunting the corridors of our minds and our reflective moments. We feel an occasional cold shiver as one walks right through us. Sometimes we hear them whisper and sometimes they scream at us. Invisible but always they are there, waiting and wanting to unravel the threads of our peace, our contentment and our sanity.

I believe that love really is the biggest part of our lives far outweighing anything else and as such it must therefore be or closely be the opposite of the empty nothingness of death. It makes us do such wonderful things, brave, heroic things and tragically it can also make us do horrible and terrible things. It can overpower our own sense of survival and sometimes I believe it can hold us here and even bring us back from the edge of death. It should be our greatest reason for wanting to be here. What else have we got, sports, fashion, movies, blogging on the internet? But love gets so complicated. It gets twisted up with a lot of other things like possession and heartbreak, lust and fear.

There was a moment so many years ago where I was held back despite my tears and protests and the dawn of my needs to say goodbye and find closure. I was not allowed to do what every part of me cried out to do. I was restrained because they would not shatter my childhood with the cruel sticks of life. Their demand of retaining the illusion and the innocence was preserved. Later when I was considered old enough to look upon a face so different from any I had ever witnessed her carry before I think I may have wished I had not. A complete absence of pain and the presence of peace across her features were in evidence and that was the one single comfort that offered me my moment of thankfulness but there was no sign of love and that was my pain.
She would never hold me again and tell me things. She would never kiss me and wipe my tears away and she wouldn't smile at my hopes and dreams and share my happy moments anymore.
Something so soft was so strong and something so full was suddenly empty.
What lies on the other side of the door?
Everyone asks this question and everyone holds what they believe to be an answer but I keep forgetting mine and I see so many doors.
Tarot's fool transfixed by the edge. We all ask that she turn and walk back into our waiting arms and warmth and comfort and safety but our appeals seem lost in a shouted silence. Plead as we will she won't turn to see our frantic gestures begging her to come back. She is captivated by the view of what lies over the precipice.
Faith that a path is suspended there in mid-air even though we can't see it and inside her the growing urges to step forward.
Here lies the prospect of an imminent tragedy when the light finally goes out and I'm strangled by such subtleties as the dream flies away. My wishes are lost on the falling star and it is no longer in my pocket!
Which way is therapy and the quiet room?