Connections Unforsaken
by Jonathan Quince
Thursday, March 3, 2005 09:19:46
What world hath we here, that exclus’nary virtues may, so in binding, exclude worthy virtues of some other kind? Live we in a world of dark contradiction, Dilemma’s twin horns piercing hope’s heart to weeping, damned by the foot for the hand yet by hand for the foot? Bifurcated so, thus straight clove down the middle, shall always we be to drift to and drift fro, drifting so searching for halves, split apart, each wrought so with virtue, yet repuls’d to the other?
Lo, such a world of choices we have! Choice, yet, and free will, but not such a freedom: What make life worth the living may damn us if we, lacking courage, take aught of risk forcing choices opposed into union. Yes, be bold, o child of mine heart, and be brave: Lest ye suffer maledictions of loss’ grey ling’ring, have strength to combine even poles of repulsion. Leave not one forsaken for the other’s command, but master the both if you wish both to gain.
And when tangles form of cross’d purposes colliding, rise always to risk — give the chance! — that e’en such a Gordian knot might be sliced, thus by miracle to allow for such good understanding.
To wit:
Lustrous black hair glints through fog o’er the searching. Haze of unknowing does obscure yet the prize, yet my mind’s-eye seeks still, as always, for merest trace of warmed flesh and gay laughter. And what is this here? Glint of eyes, hint of smile? Must now I to look? Could she be a real’ty, so off’ring by words’ touch of possibility’s allure, needing leastwise a gander ’fore I be so decisive?
But a slick sheen of life’s roles both invites and repels me: Professionalism, ’twonce indeed the good reason of our meeting, builds a wall of hard glass to keep us at arm’s-length. Cross’d-purposes, indeed, do we find: I ask not but demand that she keep duty’s calling; whilst I ache but to know if, transactions complete for the present, some business more personal may be in the offing.
O, what do I risk? Future business, perhaps. Strong principles do I hold of some wisest discretion: Not to commingle are business and pleasure, e’en in the doings of pleasure’s own business. And whilst business of present is satisfact’rily concluded, I hope yet and expect to do more in her company. Were she to meet me in off-hours’ fun frolicking, may such yet interfere with lat’r actions now planned?
Furthermore in the tangle, blithe words spake in courtesy form also a trap: For she being yet not let unto my understanding, how may I divine of her words’ true intent? Be I a fun customer, or a customer for fun yet? Subtle is a game where fair play’s murky rules, ever-shifting, do one so confound all the others!
Yet what might I gain, would our meeting succeed — even be success o’er the odds of small one in large thousand? Connections formed ’tween us, why, and oh yes! for the worth, I see verily that odds of a thousand may be but a bargain! Mayhap I, an idealist, am a hopeless naïf; but may I, now as brave gambler becoming, hope here to not wager in vain?
And when taste I of lust, bane and blessing from on High of ev’ry man the world over, and womankind’s weapon and master above, what dice could be sweeter, or roulette wheel more tempting? An I stake on a gamble, let it be ’least a good one! Prizes hidden, fortunes waiting, I go, now, to find her.
Yet gently, with caution: Rough play and fair chase are not for now yet, for I must respect our first reasons for meeting. But by honor I await with the patience of a hunter or long sight of a saint. I open a door, tiny hope biding ’til she lets known her volition. And time, yet, will give me an answer more truthful than haste bringing forth but a hasty admission.
Such a case, such a cause! An example, I give ye. Yet always, the same must I give for the finding: If one chance in a thousand, a needle’s hope in a myriad, even one in a million or one only of prayer. So do I strive to leave the chance taken; for a connection’s importance, ’tis a chance unforsaken.