of love & emptiness – (en)

of_love_emptiness
Let’s not abuse words like “love”. It’s a very sensitive word and it wears out quickly. Romeo barely says it. It’s a currency that’s easily devalued. Pretty soon you’re saying it whenever you hang up the phone or whenever you leave. It turns into an apology. Then it’s an excuse. Some assholes want it to be a bulletproof vest: don’t hate me; I love you. But mostly it just means: more. More, more, give me something more. A couple of years from now, when you’re on your own completely, if you really fall in love, if it really comes to that -and I pity you if it does- you have to look right down into the black of her eyes, right down into the emptiness in there and feel everything, absolutely everything she needs and you have to be willing to drown in it. You’d have to want to be crushed, buried alive. Because that’s what real love feels like: choking. They used to bury some women in their wedding dresses, you know. I thought it was because all those husbands were too cheap to spring for another gown, but now it makes sense: love is your first foot in the grave. That’s why the second most abused word is “forever”.
Emptiness00
Emptiness, which is conceptually liable to be mistaken for sheer nothingness, was in fact the reservoir of infinite possibilities. I become aware of the void as I fill it. This accidental meeting of possibilities calls itself I. But as an old man I ask: what am I doing here? My mind just keeps fogging over. And, at once, this I becomes unreal. It’s as soul erosion, the slow accumulation of small forces and events that ultimately dries and leaves the heart empty. Is this the natural evolution of our needs?
Try to imagine this: You’re a farmer, living all alone on the Papean tundra. Day after day you plow your fields. As far as the eye can see, nothing. To the north, the horizon, to the east, the horizon, to the south, to the west, more of the same. Every morning, when the sun rises in the east, you go out to work in your fields. When it’s directly overhead, you take a break for lunch. When it sinks in the west, you go home to sleep. And then one day, something inside you dies. Day after day you watch the sun rise in the east, pass across the sky, then sink in the west, and something breaks inside you and dies. You toss your plow aside and, your head completely empty of thought, begin walking toward the west. Heading toward a land that lies west of the sun. Like someone, possessed, you walk on, day after day, not eating or drinking, until you collapse on the ground and die. What is it? This sound… Ohh. I don’t know what it is. Comes from beyond the edge of the world, where there’s a space in which nothingness and substance neatly overlap, where past and future form a continuous, endless loop. And, hovering about, there are signs no one has ever read, chords no one has ever heard.
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Of love & emptiness – Dugutigui on texts from Haruki Murakami

About Dugutigui

In the “Diula” language in Mali, the term « dugutigui » (chief of the village), literally translated, means: «owner of the village»; «dugu» means village and «tigui», owner. Probably the term is the result of the contraction of «dugu kuntigui» (literally: chief of the village).
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11 Responses to of love & emptiness – (en)

  1. This post is a perfect poem. Thank you D. .

    • Dugutigui says:

      There is a bone-deep security, a primal reassurance, that goes with the brush of a human hand, a silent, reflex-level affirmation that someone is near, that someone cares. Thank you for all your comments!

      • Yes, it’s true.🙂
        You are most welcome my friend.

      • Dugutigui says:

        This is how it works. I love the people in my life, and I do for my friends whatever they need me to do for them, again and again, as many times as is necessary. For example, in your case you always forgot how much you’re loved. So what I do for you as your friend is remind you who you are and tell you how much I love you. And this isn’t any kind of burden for me, because I love who you are very much. Every time I remind you, I get to remember with you, which is my pleasure.

      • I love you too, my old good dear friend…
        No, I did not forget that I’m loved. I am reminded of this every day. I am loved and I can love unconditional. I think this is the most important thing one can learn and share in this life. And if I can give this love I am happy to give it to anyone, because love has no limits, but can change lives.
        Have a good night D., and may your new day be happy and bright.
        >:)<

      • Dugutigui says:

        Re word “love” allow me for once this periphrastic contradiction with the post which reinforces what I mean🙂

  2. Excellent prose. Funny how love can overfill one’s heart and also empty it to realize the great depths it has. This type of writing does have a spark of Murakami in it … the loneliness or the emptiness, yet not so depressing.

    • Dugutigui says:

      You right. Some people say “you can’t live without love.” Personally, I think oxygen is more important. The problem with loving is that pets don’t last long enough and people last too long🙂
      You right again. Kyoto-born Haruki Murakami is probably one of the most admired among those authors whose books are in my bookshelves. Norwegian Wood, A Wild Sheep Chase, After Dark, or his surreal romance nearly 1,000 pages long 1Q84 are books that I review constantly. To my sense, part of his appeal lies in his gift for treating a daft idea with vast seriousness, and the virtue of his writing that, carried away, you rarely sense the strain. Deserved reference to him appears in the footnote of the post.

      • I still not have read Murakami’s newest (and massive) novel, but Norwegian wood and his compilation of short stories, “Blind Willow, Sleeping Woman” still are my favorites of his. And how perfectly put! Yes, in regards to loving, pets don’t live long enough and people live too long.

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