Recently I got divorced and did not mind. I felt free. It was a pleasure.
Per chance an old friend finds me, and happens to have had a similar experience. We shared our thoughts. Our friendship produced lengthless conversations. Facebook chat showed who was online, and it felt inviting. We would coincidently find each other.
Being a friend meant you can ignore people some of the time. Being ignored by a friend, did not matter. But something had changed. I felt bad ignoring my old friend. She wanted friendship, and I could not ignore her. So now I was caught up in love. I gave a lot more.
I asked her, “Is love a Mystical Bridge, that brings people together, or is it a Bridge you make in the real world?” She said, “It is Mystical Bridge that brings people together.”
Unconditional Love, is what some people call this Mystical Bridge. The feeling one person has, exists on the other side of the Bridge, in the other person. You are in Love. Speak about the Bridge. Both can see it.
Why is it that one person feels that they have to speak of this Bridge, without any regard for what the other person feels? Remember she said she believes the Mystical Bridge brings people together.
So I felt love, like I hadn’t for all that time before my divorce. Questions appeared as I asked myself, “what happened to your freedom of being single”? I knew what it felt being free and single. I also could feel the energy flowing from the Mystical Bridge. I assumed she felt it too.
I started relating this energy from the Bridge as a religious duty. Unconditional love was spiritual. I read Rumi, and produced quotes in my tweets. I was going nuts. I was a love warrior. Fu..ing stupid. I felt like I was 15. But I am nearly 55.
Oh.. Iranian poetry goes nuts over this flame of love burning you out. Hafez has written better than any Human Being. If an alien comes to me from outer space, and asks what do you people know about love, I would give him Hafez. Chaucer lived at the same time as Hafez. Compare them and laugh.
People say Persians make the best carpets. I say we have the greatest poems on love. And so we Iranians can really feel love and all its confusions. And confusing it is.
This is how it gets confusing. One person keeps talking about love, and the other gets a lovely feeling. But here is where it goes wrong or should I say confusing? She did not respond. She did not say “oh f..k off you idiot nutcase!”. She said nothing. After a while I was confused.
Love is confusing and that is what keeps it going. You fall in love with confusion. You don’t care. You just carry on. You listen to music, that tells you about this confusion. You swim in a torrent of confusion, and the Bridge keeps you from drowning. Madness.
You become totally dellusional. You get sick. You start talking to yourself. You ask Ahuramazda. You ask Hafez. Totally bezerk. Everytime you feel something, you send it as an email or tweet or put it on facebook. Heck Zukerberg created facebook because of it. This is all happening without one word from the other side.
At some point you realise you are being ignored as the messenger of the Mystical Bridge. You realise that you lost yourself in all this confusion. It begins to hurt and you divorce yourself as a messenger as she has ignored you. You are free again. You stand there looking at the Mystical Bridge. You have stopped hurting yourself. Some don’t.