For most, there exists a pain that the soul finds enjoyment in. For me, that pain would stem from yearning. The thing with such suffering is that we refuse to heal or fix it, because we subconsciously fear how life would be without it. Yearning, for me, is quite intoxicating as a feeling to the point that it feels dangerous since it feels like a thin line between heaven and idolatry. Unlike my usual critique and commentary on society, this piece will focus on my personal reflection and journey through said emotions. I pray you take away something from reading this.
For a while, I was under the assumption that I was indeed in love. Now that it’s — regrettably — over, I realize I started to love the image of her rather than her person. This was just a reflection my yearning had created throughout the years, no longer the person I fell in love with initially. I replayed every moment, remembered every scent, and noted down every gentle word spoken between us, and created a perfect image for my desire. Unfortunately, this illusion did not last long, reality quickly caught up to me and the entire image shattered into many pieces. Now, does this mean I stopped loving? To be plain, I would say no. However, dear reader, many things in life are not as simple. It would have been easy for such shattering of reality to brew anger and other filthy emotions, yet I could only grieve. Though I asked myself, “Am I mourning my love, or the collapse of the idol I mistook for love?”
The Church Fathers talk about the concept of eros, a passionate love that guides the heart to union with God. St. Maximus the Confessor states that eros is a divine concept when we direct it towards God, but does nothing other than distort our focus when directed inwards. My error was pointing my passion towards the created, rather than the Creator. See, this isn’t to say that we should forget about romance, or worldly love, but to notice that without the Grace of God, such things are merely idols. I notice now that I wasn’t much different than pagans who carved their gods on planks. My idol had beautiful eyes, a gentle heart and a perfume I can still smell. Nevertheless, she had become an idol, not because she is evil, but because I made her bear a weight she was never meant to.
St. Augustine said that “Our hearts are restless until they rest in You.” I agree with this statement to an extent. I believe that when it comes to blessed romantic love, two restless souls can rest not only in God, but also with each other. The danger here comes when one heart seeks the other heart in its entirety, devoid of the Grace of such passion. Then this love becomes vanity, it becomes worship, and worship without God does not end in happiness.
From my experience, Love is more a gift than achievement. Some cynics might argue that it’s nothing but an emotion felt through the secretion of hormones and nothing more, but I’d argue the mechanism does not make the experience devoid of meaning. Love is too complex to be a feeling we manufacture; it’s grace. It’s a grace that makes the soul kneel in awe before another. I’d go further to say that Love is the power to see the grace of God in creation. This grace made me see the beauty in the one who laughed with me, peeled mandarins for me, and looked at me with bottomless kindness. Love, when uncorrupt, is divine, but once it’s tainted it becomes destructive.
I’d say that yearning is a form of corrupt love. It never truly ends unless the soul embraces humility. Pride makes us believe we deserve all the gifts our heart may desire, but humility teaches us that not all love is meant to remain in our lives. St. Isaac the Syrian once said that grace often visits and withdraws so that we might learn to love the Giver more than the gift. I can only assume this is what happened to me.
Now, once this all ended for me, I feel a blend of longing and gratitude. Whether it’s a scent in the rain, or passing places that brings her back for a fleeting moment, I still cherish those memories, along with the pain. It’s not really a ghost of my past that constantly haunts me, it’s a gentle teacher that taught me the cost of attachment. One might ask whether I still love her if I still have the energy to write all of this, and to that I can finally give a simple answer. Yes. However, it no longer takes over me, I can finally rest and focus on myself without an overwhelming desire. I really appreciate all of this, because it taught me to chase love that purifies my heart, not one that fulfills every wish.
“This is My commandment, that you love one another as I have loved you.”
— John 15:12
