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This Thing, Called Love
I sometimes forget to be grateful. I have a practice. Sometimes I engage it, but don’t feel it. Sometimes, and more frequently since engaging the practice, I find myself in a flow of genuine happiness that comes with something akin to love. That Queen song’s lyrics, “called love, I just can’t handle it, this thing…” Is love gratefulness, or is gratefulness love? It feels like archery. Ahh, Cupid explained? If one never practice archery, one will never hit the target. Well, maybe there are some people who can pick up a bow and launch an arrow and hit a bullseye first try, but I have to practice. Maybe if I were a girl on fire, I’d be more motivated? (Obscure, funny movie reference. Points in the comments if you get it.) Even as a poorly educated word smith, I have got this Angry Bird Word Catapult approach to just trying to hit some moving targets…
Archery is an interesting metaphor for love. Finding the right image to carry a meme is so difficult. There are some sexy archers. I nearly went there. I too often go there. Is an image the ‘heat seeking tech’ that moves arsenal towards target acquisition? The cupid target always seems to be an innocent bystander. Choice doesn’t seem to be a part of the equation. I am okay with Artemis and Diana shooting at me, but babies? Why are babies, angels or not, playing archery. And if…
