the waxing and waning affection of the moon for the earth

Ah, Valentine's Day. It's a challenge to hover precariously between cynicism and sappyness for this loaded holiday. On the one hand, how lovely to dedicate a day to celebrating love and the intimacy of connection. On the other, how ridiculous to reinforce the illusion that love is something that can be boxed, bundled, enveloped, or otherwise reserved for couples.

I feel both slopes of slipperyness and myself don't wish to slide down either side without critical thinking. In giving this more thought this morning I began parsing out 'romance' from 'love' in hopes of finding a resolution, at least for another year. 'Romance' feels as though it has been lost to the world of commodities; traded like any other mineral or agricultural product. My sense is that romance becomes focused on form as opposed to space, or in Gestalt terminology a figural manifestation from ground. 'Love' on the other hand resists being captured or contained; it seems as though love finds its essence through movement rather than product -- much like the distinction between 'religion' and 'God.'

When loving (switching the stagnant noun to its active verb) gets lost to romance, I wonder if the illusory sense of security, as reinforced by romance, isn't groped after so as to quell the ultimately disquieting vulnerability and moment-to-moment presence that loving demands. Perhaps there is nothing innately faulty about romance until it is offered as a substitute or salve.

My caveat -- I type this entry alone in my home, except for my cat (now I'm truly freaked out), who offered me no expressions of his undying love on this St. Valentine's Day, unless you count the usual deposit in the litterbox. Maybe this is love in action, cleaning up after someone simply because he's here and I can. And there's something about watching him sleep that reminds me to breathe, slow down, and open up.

My loving to you. May whatever you long for be yours, if only to pass over and puncture your heart momentarily -- not to be restrained, only to be cherished.