fear and love … Brel 2

“We say we love flowers, yet we pluck them. love on a pageWe say we love trees, yet we cut them down. And people still wonder why some are afraid when told they are loved.” – Tween on Xanga

This was awesome.

I had never seen this thought before. Well. Certainly not said this way.

Tweens can say the smartest most insightful things.

Me?

I know I love love.

And I know I love to love someone.

And I am sure, in some way, I fear love.

And I know, in a constructive way, I fear being loved.

I imagine I am not alone in this paradox.

Love is a responsibility … when given … and when received.

Maybe now I know the reason I feel all these things.

Maybe I associate it with flowers and trees … <and getting plucked or cut>. And it took a tween to make me think about Love at all.

Regardless. If I could tell this tween anything right now I would use Jacques Brel to suggest a several things. First … everything ends … even love. Therefore you have a choice … think of the death of love or revel in its Life. Slide under the warm sheets of love and find its comfort … and use its comfort against the passing of time. Its death will come soon enough. Second. Death … yes … some things die when you fall in love and accept being loved. As with everything in Life some things get destroyed to create something new. Is it eliminating some baggage? Maybe. Is it about changing? Maybe. All I know is that when something new is created, even feelings, usually something dies to make way for it. Third. Jacques wrote a song called Tender Hearts where he sings of the heart  …. where he suggests that there are ‘those with a heart so immense … that they are always on a journey’ … I would suggest to this tween that maybe the fear of being loved has more to do with the immensity associated with love rather than its death.

Here is Jacque Brel’s Tender Hearts:

Tender Hearts

There are those with a heart so broad
That one can enter there without knocking.
There are those with a heart so spacious
That we can see only half of it.

There are those with a heart so frail
That one could break it with a finger.
There are those with a heart too frail
To live like you and me.

Their eyes are full of flowers,
Eyes flush with fear,
For fear of missing the time
That leads to Paris.

There are those with a heart so tender
That songbirds alight there.
There are those with a heart too tender,
Half men and half angels.

There are those with a heart so immense
That they are always on a journey.
There are those with a heart too immense
they deny mirages.

 

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Written by Bruce