Lovers and Chopin

I’d like to make it quite clear that Chopin and soap opera don’t mix well. If any of you think Chopin music is just sad, *sniff* – leave, please! You’re sparing both of us the embarrassment of me calling you a pathetic, ignorant Neanderthal.

There’s nothing trivial about sex and no, it doesn’t lack complexity. Neither does a piano – it has 88 keys and one can play badly on 3 of them or Godly on all 88. And conversely, one can hear both cases as symphonies or banjo ballads, depending on their own God given 2 ears and 1 brain apiece.

If you haven’t fucked properly lately, you’re likely in the mood to argue that sex is a non essentially human feature, that means nothing without a set of adequately matched feelings. I’m not saying there’s a causality between the argument itself and the lack of sexual activity. There’s a mood, not a causality. A person who’s not in that mood, will be quicker to understand the nullity of this particular argument.

But let’s start with semantics. A lover is a person you like making love with. It is ideally matched for lovemaking and neither one of you has the intention, either overt or hidden, to essentially capture the other, by involving him or her in a spiritual relationship. But it is neither mindless nor superficial – this misconception is incredible, particularly for creatures such as us, which are naturally limited to an average 30 Earth revolutions of being together.

One can fuck for the mere physical necessity of it, which makes the whole act binary: it’s either 1 or 0. Still, that is hardly what a lover is all about – and demeaning it is certainly not a convincing argument.

Unless you genuinely love your lover for the purpose and duration of the lovemaking, then we are talking about different semantics. Make that clear: it is love! It is abandon and selflessness, and it is as beautiful as anything is in this world, by all standards and by all terms of comparison. And there’s more, which makes it splendid, moral, human: you don’t ask for anything in return – there’s no „forever”, no „you’re mine”, no jealousy.

No more I love you-s
. You spare your partner the pain of a break up, simply because there is, from the start, nothing to break up. You can obviously argue that it is inhuman not to grow attached to the other – but there is a subtle difference: a lover assumes the partner’s freedom, guarantees it until proven differently.

A classic soul mate relationship is like France with Alsace and Lorraine: if they break up, that is a profound and unbearable wound, that will result invariably in war, because, for both sides, there is a severed sense of belonging. A lover relationship is like France and Germany – their natural state is that of neutrality; when one develops a sense of belonging against the other, then war ensues and eventually fades, with various possible results. Naturally, if the conquerer wins and the conquered is assimilated, the latter becomes a soul mate in the end.

While it is impossible for humans to maintain neutrality for too long, it is likely to live happily and to their best for a while. Soul mates are together because of words. Lovers are together because of love. Arguably, the essential difference between infatuation and lovemaking resides in this motivation.

The same difference is on how you hear Chopin, and how you perceive art and music in general: you can appreciate it for what it is and for what it means to the artist or you can appreciate it for what it means to you. If you learn to taste it, contemplate it, if you let yourself be carried by it, then you are basically a lover. If you stand as a rock and dwell on the path it carves in you, as river, if you let it grind on your own feelings, acting as a catalyst, then you are on the soul path. Personally, I believe the latter is a bit selfish and it usually fails to harness the whole beauty and strength of the music, as it fails to harness on the beauty and strength of love.

Do not think this metaphoric. The beauty and strength of love comes from when you say „shut up!” and kiss her, it comes from when you touch her breasts with your lips the first time, thinking „what if she will say stop?” It comes from the smell of her, that you know will persist on your body and in your mind. It comes from her first moan – wanting to forget that is not enough: just make sure you don’t hurt each other, because, I’ll say again: wanting to forget that is not enough. It comes from her hips rocking slowly as you make her fingers clutch on your back. No metaphors. Love. Um… I may be confusing here – love is when she is your purpose and you are hers. That is why I particularly like communism, in lovemaking: there is no sense of property.

I’ll share a confession: I found myself overwhelmed more than once by love, but never by „I love you-s”.


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