On Love and Farewell.

Somehow I stumbled upon a poem by Borges today. Funny things, I encountered Borges last year because of another friend. But I didn't get to know this tender part of Borges that I got to know today. I knew him as a philosopher who focused on phenomenology and deconstruction.

When I was reading his poems, I was so surprised that his words were filled with incomprehensible sensations - they escaped the horizon of time and elevated emotions beyond human conception. They hit my heart like bullets - precise, deep. Yet it makes sense. His expressions mimic exactly the way he thinks, or his analysis of experience cannot transcend the daily mundanity. I was touched, very, by the commonality of feelings humans all share. I was relieved, very, from my own situation and the emotional trap I thought I could not escape.

And here it is, a few lines of a few poems that impressed me：

• To fall in love is to create a religion with a fallible god.

• To fall in love is to produce a private mythology – a private mythology – and to make the universe into an allusion to the only indubitable person.

• To say goodbye is to deny separation. It is like saying “today we play at separating, but we will see each other tomorrow.” Man invented farewells because he somehow knows he is immortal, even though he may seem gratuitous and ephemeral.

These feelings - of being in love and consequently being fearful of farewell - originate from one's subjective and sometimes selfish standpoint.

Phenomenology, the study of experience, roots in subjectivity which necessitates an ego. Because it is nonetheless the I that feels. Interpreting love upon the foundation of I, and if it is appropriate, let us assume it is only the I that is relevant, or rather, that is important, in the case of love, the other person is constructed as an authoritative figure the I wishes him to be, who she is willing to submit herself under. The I demands the other to give her everything she wants, that is, to fulfill her lack through satisfying her desires, in exchange for the authoritative position she can give him. The indubitable person, as Borges calls, is such an ideal the I wants to him to be. It is a necessary and perfect ideal, which mirrors the lack of her, or the experience of love would not occur for her. She even secretly wants the other to take control so she could forgo her responsibility in the relationship and becoming solely an object to be satisfied. This is the submission of subjectivity for idealogy which leads to the becoming of objectivity.

The problem occurs when in reality, the other himself is an identity which also demands and never 100% matches the desires of the I. The other is necessarily fallible, which disturbs the I while retaining the status of God in her heart. So the experience of love, theoretically speaking, is extremely private and sometimes selfish. It is a balance of sacrificing oneself for one's own ideal. In other words, one's willingness of submitting oneself to her desires. When willingness and desires derail too much, it becomes an addictive self-abusing behavior, until one understands what is letting go.

Letting go is giving up. On a deeper level, it is the submission of ego to the irreconcilability that is revealed by reality. It is difficult because the ego has to admit its defeat. Yet the ego, in reality, never admits its defeat. So it invents the idea of goodbye, a ceremonial farewell, to not disconnect and extinguish its desires but to continue a hope of its victory in the future. Saying goodbye is selfish, having a closure is selfish, for it is another form of the satisfaction of the ego. Men have assigned themselves too much importance and have entrusted themselves with too much faith that they have complete control over their fates, to a degree that they secretly block themselves from the pain of death and have a secret hope of being immortal. Life is a struggle to create your own death.

So I understand my emotions to be a selfish hope at some degree, and my desire of a goodbye is meaningless. The only solution to resolve the pain is to let go by downplaying my ego. It is time to destroy the God of idealogy and create my own ubermensch. As Nietzsche says, "God has died and his death was the life of the world."

One poem and one prose by Borges:

Uno Aprende

Después de un tiempo, uno aprende la sutil diferencia
entre sostener una mano y encadenar un alma;
Y uno aprende que el amor no significa acostarse
y que la compañía no significa seguridad;
Y uno empieza a aprender que los besos no son contratos
y los regalos no son promesas;
Y uno empieza a aceptar sus derrotas con la cabeza alta y los ojos abiertos;
Y uno aprende a construir todos sus caminos en el hoy,
porque el terreno de mañana es demasiado incierto para planes
y los futuros tienen una forma de caerse en la mitad.
Y después de un tiempo uno aprende que si es demasiado
hasta el calorcito del sol quema.
Así que uno planta su propio jardín y decora su propia alma,
en lugar de esperar a que alguien le traiga flores.
Y uno aprende que realmente uno puede aguantar,
que uno realmente es fuerte,
que uno realmente vale,
y uno aprende y aprende…
y con cada día uno aprende.

Delia Elena San Marco

Nos despedimos en una de las esquinas del Once.
Desde la otra vereda volví a mirar; usted se había dado vuelta y me dijo adiós con la mano.
Un río de vehículos y de gente corría entre nosotros; eran las cinco de una tarde cualquiera; cómo iba yo a saber que aquel río era el triste Aqueronte, el insuperable.
Ya no nos vimos y un año después usted había muerto.
Y ahora yo busco esa memoria y la miro y pienso que era falsa y que detrás de la despedida trivial estaba la infinita separación.
Anoche no salí después de comer y releí, para comprender estas cosas, la última enseñanza que Platón pone en boca de su maestro. Leí que el alma puede huir cuando muere la carne.
Y ahora no sé si la verdad está en la aciaga interpretación ulterior o en la despedida inocente.
Porque si no mueren las almas, está muy bien que en sus despedidas no haya énfasis.
Decirse adiós es negar la separación, es decir: Hoy jugamos a separarnos pero nos veremos mañana. Los hombres inventaron el adiós porque se saben de algún modo inmortales, aunque se juzguen contingentes y efímeros.
Delia: alguna vez anudaremos ¿junto a qué río? este diálogo incierto y nos preguntaremos si alguna vez, en una ciudad que se perdía en una llanura, fuimos Borges y Delia.