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A Golden Thread

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I started this project – daily doing something I’ve never done before – thinking of it as an external thing, a lark to get me out of my pattern of traipsing to my favourite café, writing, then hanging out at Jean-Talon Market with the other vegetables. A fast-forwarded video of my days would show me wearing a triangular path in the ground, with the occasional foray to Atwater Library. I didn’t come to Montreal to do the same thing every day, I told myself: I came to live a vibrant, urban life, after years in the woods. So this newness project started as a way to become a little bit more adventurous. What I didn’t realize is that even small new actions stir one’s inner life in a profound way. After 40 days I feel these actions have connected me by a golden thread to the life that underlies the apparent, external reality. Just as there are laws of physics, I think there might be laws of metaphysics, and doing some daily new action is beginning to teach me things I did not expect. One of them has to do with love. At this point, I don’t feel like writing as if I know a lot of answers. What I’m learning has more to do with questioning things whose definition I thought I knew. I’ll just ask this question: what is love made of. 

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On February 10th, 2011 01:16 pm (UTC), alicezorn commented:
"with the other vegetables" made me grin!
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On February 11th, 2011 03:30 pm (UTC), Marilee Pittman commented:
all of ordinary things, people, animals and sights and sounds of your life. It is life...
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On February 12th, 2011 08:38 pm (UTC), (Anonymous) commented:
How very interesting that the options for leaving a comment include facebook, twitter, openID, LiveJournal..... and anonymous. So I will be anonymous, as I have no recourse.

"What is love made of": complexities that cannot be defined.

I have always been repulsed by the term "making love" as a cutesyism for "engaging in sexual intercourse" as it seems to me that love cannot be made.

I can make a cake, but I cannot make love.
I fuck, I have sex, but I don't make love.
I love, but I have no idea how to "make" love.

Love is not something that is made. Never mind the confusion I experienced as a teenager when I read 19th century novels where the characters were making love all over the place. It took me so long to realize that "making love" had changed meanings over the years.

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