 |
| |
| Perfect
Love |
| What
a privilege--to receive the key that opens the inner recesses of another's
mind. |
| We
speak of women having "secret places," hidden from all but
the one most intimate to her, and sometimes not even then, if she
has no freedom and he has no capacity to appreciate a different kind
of beauty. |
| But
the mind, full of confusing connections and dead ends and beguiling
labyrinths, offers far more of the secret places to explore. |
| Fear
of rejection keeps the door locked and the key stored in a place where
few, if any, can reach it. Fear that someone will open it, look
and say, "What a mess. Let me get a mop and a broom and
a trash basket and clean it up." |
| And
so the invited one stops acting like a privileged guest, and begins
acting like a demanding authority. |
| And
instead of being accepted, we get fixed. And if we don't stay
fixed, we get criticized. |
| Finally,
it is easier to resort to the strategy of teenage boys--keep the door
shut and then no one can ever know. But sometimes the smell
grows to intolerable levels, and the pain of keeping the mess hidden
explodes into unstoppable tears. Sometimes, we have no choice
but to hand over the key. |
| Can
we work together then to bring some order to the chaos, or will the
privileged key-holder take over and attack instead of come beside
and heal? |
| The
fear never leaves until absolute trust comes. And absolute trust
cannot come until we have already been betrayed enough to gain competence
in recognizing the trustworthy. |
| But
. . . perfect love casts out fear. |
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