What is Love

(PD) What is Love

Larry Neal Gowdy

When a man has lost hope,

when reason is no more,

what will he choose,

but to return, as before?

Mesmerized Symphonic is of the arrival from the orchards, as Cherry Blossoms is of the loneliness, the end, the new beginning, of when love flowered, and of when the heart breaks.

Dwelling within the form of man, differences of emotional natures describe different species, some of which are conscious, but most are mindless, mere animals without a heart, and incapable of reason: of those, I speak nothing, but to those few who can think, I pose my questions, questions that I already know the answers, but must be asked nevertheless, to release the gnawing disappointment of man.

It is inevitable that a thinking man must walk the dark paths of experience, to learn through firsthand observation the behavior of man, but having witnessed the mindless ones, we turn, abandon hope, and walk away. There, within their inventions of institutes, the mindless ones parrot each other's words, and busy themselves reciting their own words, frenzying themselves through animalistic tones of emotioned rapine, of proclaiming through angry brutality that they alone are the masters of all life, and they possess no capacity to grasp that their minds, and hearts, are of an empty darkness.

The story, I will not say, nor permit to be dirtied by man's filthy mind.

The way of man, finds no beauty in innocence, because man desires filth, because he himself is filth, and he desires to force his own kind. Man cannot respect cleanliness; he ignorantly pollutes all he touches, and with cravings of lust he destroys all creative things.

And by what manner do we respond to the dark ones? All things, everywhere, are composed of components, and the man with eyes, and ears, and with a nose, he observes the emotions of body language, as he hears the emotioned tones of voices, as he smells the differences of aromas nascenting and decaying, that describe emotional intensities, and he knows that each combination of components creates a different expression of emotion. A specific combination of ingredients creates selfishness, a different combination creates lust, and between and encircling the emotions are an infinity of different variations, never the same twice, and yet the dark ones claim that love is identical to lust; that love is lust.

Do we again attempt to reason with the unreasonable, or do we merely disregard the snake, the bovine, and the pseudo-bipod? Is there value in attempting the unattainable?

In this world of pseudo-man, whose self-proclaimed kings of intellect cannot reason a child's fifth grade literacy test, and still do not so much as know the differences between left and right-handedness, and if they do not know of the differences, then they cannot know what an emotion is, nor love. But observe, how the screeching primates believe theirs is the highest intellect in the universe, and also while not one of them, not one, can describe any one thing, whatsoever. We cannot reason with animals who do not possess the ability to reason, and so, what should we do?

When we gave our lives for man, what did he profit? Look at man now; how has he been bettered, and how has he remained the same? Though it might be our nature to love, and to forever yearn for man to discover his own heart, if man has not yet learned, then, perhaps, it is now time to let-go, and to permit man to end his own misery.

In recent months I combined and rewrote two of my older unpublished manuscripts, to create a new book that has the purpose of stimulating the specific emotions of love, sympathy, heartache, and happiness for other people. Since it is such a rarity for humans to express depths of creative emotions, and since the positive emotions are fully nonexistent in my environment, then the only means I have available, for my own use, to experience the creative emotions, is through imaginary scenarios, birthed within the longings of my own heart.

The new book has over 130,000 words, and it will likely exceed 150,000 words when I later finish adding additional tensions to further contrast and to heighten the creative emotions. My wife reluctantly read the first portion of the book, but after crying over twenty times — one of which was intense and prolonged — she will not read the final chapters of which I had explained to be far more emotional and loving than the first section.

Of everyone else I asked to read the book, no one was interested, nor did anyone so much as ask what the book's topic might be; which was normal and expected. As a general rule of thumb, humans have no capacity for caring about other people, and less-so a capacity for love. Pseudo-humans do not care for other living beings, and without the caring, there can be no love. The academic belief of love being lust and habit, the belief being based upon the normal human state of animalistic selfishness, as such, the belief is accurate for normal humans, but only in so far as the word 'love' ignorantly being used as a synonym of lustful selfishness.

After I finished writing the central stories of the book and had the primary sections fully edited, I discovered that most of the individuals that I had created had in fact been real people with the same names, and who had lived similar lives while aiming for similar goals. Humored with the discovery, I further researched the individuals and found numerous other strong parallels between historical individuals and my fictitious stories. I had chosen names by how they were felt to be in rhythmic harmony with the stories' plots, and though coincidences do occur — sometimes startlingly similar, like the Kennedy-Lincoln coincidences — still there were additional parallels that suggested that there was more to the similarities than mere coincidence.

One of the main characters was given a name and a new goal in life as the originator of an ideal, and the individual who further advocated the ideal was given a name that was felt to not be perfect, but close enough to permit the desired emotional bond. I later discovered that the main character's name was indeed associated with the same general ideal and name, and the second person's name was indeed the second person to advocate the ideal, but the second person's name was slightly different with switched vowels to permit a variance of gender. Most amusing was that the second person's face, that I had visualized while writing, was very similar to the person shown in an old photograph, kneeling beside the real second individual (possibly the individual's own child, like in my own story). The real-life individuals were beautiful, of heart and soul.

Of the numerous other parallels, I was additionally humored that I gave the name of a plant to a group of individuals, and yes, the name was what was used by those specific individuals. I invented a symbol for the group, my own personal symbol, the symbol that I have carried throughout this life as my own, and yes, the symbol is a portion of what the real group used. On and on the similarities were remarkable, and though the similarities are interesting, the primary purpose of the book — to spark specific emotions — remained to be the sole importance.

The reasoning of why I mentioned the similarities is related to the experience of love, but I will not pollute the topic further by speaking of the details.

The new book's purpose was achieved — I still cry with love and happiness when reading it — and that will remain the book's sole purpose: a benefit for my own personal use, created by me, for me. The public has no interest in love, nor in caring for other people — especially not for reciprocal affection — and so the book will not be made public, simply because the public has no interest in the topics of love, affection, and caring.

In the thirty years of my writing articles about different topics, perhaps the least popular topic has been that of love. Ethics is known by publishers to be a worthless topic that the public greatly dislikes, but my ethics articles receive hundreds of times more interest than the articles about love, which suggests that the topic of love is ranked far below even the despised topic of ethics. If publishers avoid books about ethics, then so much more so would a book about love be denied publication.

Emotions flow, with depths and widths and speeds and intensities and hues, and memories are formed within the emotional tones. For the man who feels with the heart, his memories and thoughts are fluid, deep, stable, and creative, but the man who thinks with academic knowledge, his thoughts have no depths, and his memories can be changed willy-nilly to conform to any new knowledge. The man of knowledge has memories formed as if the blocks of children's toys, with each knowledge placed one upon the other, separate from the other, and with no reciprocal interaction between one block and another: never cross-lighted. The man of heart, his knowledge is formed upon firsthand experiences, his memories are as oceans of waters, fluid, interacting with all others, with depths of calmness, and his mind glows of consciousness.

The academic theories of love, are formed from tiny insignificant blocks of knowledge, and quite useless. How should we respond, or should we respond at all? Must we always turn, and merely walk away? Is there no other choice?

What value is there in man? Nature is the sole judge of right and wrong, and Nature dictates whether a man's existence is useful. Man, the animal, is useful to Nature if he eats and fertilizes the soil, so as to better enable plants to grow and to feed other animals, but now that man has sewers, he no longer fertilizes; only consumes. Of what value is man now? There is a potential value, a tremendous one, but it is one that must be self-learned, it cannot be taught, and it creates a unique thing that is more beautiful and remarkable than all other known things in the universe. The false man wants to know what the thing is because cold-hearted man believes that tiny blocks of knowledge are the only things that can be known, and man will not lift a finger to discover the beautiful thing for himself. Mankind knows how to hold out its paw to receive sustenance, but mankind will never choose to use the hand with love for another person, nor even for himself.

In recent years I have discovered three new wonders, with each being directly related to the emotions of love, and I marvel at the potential that man possesses, but, it is a potential that cannot be realized, because man cannot feel love; will not feel love. I repeatedly offered the information to everyone who would listen, but no one was interested; not one.

Families abandon family members who have been injured, and I myself have not yet witnessed a family that loves, although I do continue to hold hope that loving families do exist.

Decent humans hide in their homes, unwilling to mingle with filthy beasts, but here too, is this the only choice, to surrender Creation to the ogres of hate and destruction? And yet, though I repeatedly offered all that I had, many times, not once did I observe a willingness by man to help another man without there first being perceived a personal profit. I offered knowledge, technologies, and all other things in my possession, for free, to the first man who could exhibit caring for his fellow man; but none cared.

And so continues the fate of man, forever too selfish to reason that his selfishness has cost himself the loss of comforts, the loss of wealth, the loss of health, and the loss of joy. There is no appeasing the pseudo-man, and so, what must the choice be?

Over thirty years of research and documentation are being shredded — over a hundred cubic feet of documents — and forever will the information be gone, because no one cared, because there was no one to give the information to, but the end is now as was known from the beginning, that this world only holds the value of the learning of the experience of life, an understanding that would accompany me, and not remain, when I leave.

The real main character was deemed a prodigy because he could extrapolate ten things after learning one. Within the fluid thoughts of love, extrapolation is infinite, but man ignorantly prefers selfishness, and man robs himself of his own prodigious potential, because, he, cannot, and will not, love.

Love is a state of being, one that is active, visible in one's behaviors and motions, audible in one's voice, perceived in one's aromas, felt when touched, and enables many talents, all made possible by the creative ingredients of love, but only possible for men and women who can think, and who can feel with the heart.

Of the main characters, the story is of a quality, but only individuals with a heart, and a conscious mind, can cry for the person's life.

To again sit upon the river's bank, watching as the sun sets below the western horizon, I will turn to look up towards the canyon's cliffs, and I will remember the love of an angel, who, without hope, watched as her love was no more. The last two words of the character's life, within only two words, is the fullness of definition, of love.