Tuesday, January 10, 2012

In Your Eyes....

Love I get so lost, sometimes
days pass and this emptiness fills my heart
when I want to run away
I drive off in my car
but whichever way I go
I come back to the place you are

all my instincts, they return
and the grand facade, so soon will burn
without a noise, without my pride
I reach out from the inside

in your eyes
the light the heat
in your eyes
I am complete
in your eyes
I see the doorway to a thousand churches
in your eyes
the resolution of all the fruitless searches

—Peter Gabriel
(photo: a restless flycatcher in flight)

I have always loved this song. Of course, the image of John Cusack holding up a boombox playing this song to Ione Skye's bedroom window to win her over is forever etched into the minds of those of us of a certain age (can this movie really be 23 years old already?). Such longing. Such vulnerability. Such certainty of his young, idealistic love.

Yet when you actually read the lyrics, the singer is a lost man. He is nowhere near as complete as he is seen to be. He is restless, searching. He seems self aware, but unfulfilled. In your eyes, I am complete...oh, I want to be that complete. It is clear he loves his woman. That she is home to him.

I understand how he feels. The need for a secure home base. The feeling that while one may be flying, it seems to be right into the sides of the jar in which one feels trapped. Do I return "home" because of the security, and truth of the actual home? Or is by default? In defeat? In acknowledgement of the failure to break out of the jar?

I recognize that one cannot be made complete by any external factor, whether it be material gain, a job, a lover, a child, or a pet. That has to come from within. Yet I search and I search and I search. All of my life, there has been this undercurrent of restlessness. Emotional wanderlust. I crave, and have created, a home. A place to which I return (and thus far have been welcomed), no matter what. I would like to think there was no tether. However, that isn't true. I am a quite literally a kite on a string. The string is long, but ever present. And I tug on that string all too often.

I have no idea what I am looking for. Maybe affirmation that I can still hang. That I am not getting old. That I am still beautiful. That I am desirable. To cover up fear. To have someplace to hide for a while. To prove I can fly, albeit into a wall. So, after I've (mis)behaved ridiculously, I come home. I look like hell, I skirt the truth about where I was or what I was doing, I apologize, and am forgiven. So far.

r.

Post script:  Actually, I stopped skirting the truth right after this point in January. That came with its own price tag.

3 comments:

Maria said...

I still love that song for the lyric about the doorway to a thousand churches...

But..as a rule, I have always made it a point to be able to support myself, take care of myself, etc. I decided from the time I was just a teenager, that I would NEVER be dependent on anyone else. I love my partner, but I would be able to survive without her. It would not be my choice, but I would do it if I had to. And that makes all the difference in our love. We choose each other, but do not need each other. I said that to my niece last night at dinner when she was waxing poetically about her boyfriend, saying that she wouldn't want to live in a world without him. I blanched, told her that she needed to pick herself up, dust herself off and get along with her life. I think she thought I was heartless!

Rebecca said...

Maria, the home I created is one in which I am very much self sufficient. I am not dependent on my husband for anything, really. I think that takes a toll on him--he would like me to need (or want) more than I do from him. That is not to say it started out that way. While I always financially supported myself, I was unable to emotionally support myself. I had just been kicked out of my mother's house, found that I had become a de facto orphan. With issues. Making fear-based decisions. That was a very long time ago, on so many levels. I hid my inability to emotionally support myself by becoming my husband's support: financial, emotional, health, etc. Now I don't want anyone to really depend on me (other than my son). Meh...TMI, I suppose. When I am particularly restless, I write, it seems. I certainly do that more than I speak. Trying to purge the demon, or at least tame it. Otherwise, I am a menace.

SOUL said...

there it is again -- "Purge the demon". best quote I've hear in a very long time.
get back in here and purge. :))
aaahhhlll be baaack