Ecstasy Of A Personal Agony

Just over five years ago [2006], my partner killed herself. By then, we had been together for some eighteen months and were engaged to be married. I on that day of her death having so selfishly left her alone, again, despite her pleading for me to stay…

If I could I would go back again again, again.

We had a fiery, a tempestuous, relationship, replete with ecstasy, agony, anguish, doubt, and joy, and if I could I would have all those months, as short and as long as they were, back, to live them be them again, for I was alive then even if – often if – there was hurt and sorrow and yes, sometimes, even anger from the both of us.

Alive, living – as if I was my, her, passion, love: as when one Saturday, I on the farm then my home and she in the far city of York, she telephoned and so we argued and then hung up only to speak again to once more express our love our desire our need so much and so strongly that I had to just had to had to without thought or reason have a taxi convey me to the nearest railway station to catch the next train to be with her again. That journey as of seconds of unnoticed passing causal Time.

Such joy in that instant of rejoining – we, the world – when I had have no words to explain express the sacredness of life that flowed within us then as if our lives had led to and meant those moments when we together were together, again, following such a flow of feelings. She, a goddess of my dreams. For she was as one of her friends so described her –

“…an enchantress; she resembled nothing so much as a deity of the ancient world. And like such a deity she was wilful, capricious, and we didn’t care because we were too taken up with adoring her.”

But of course such divine intensity of supra-human living could not be sustained, for she as I – and our dreams a distant memory of sleepful dreams – we became all too human, far too human, again, replete with such failures as lived within and sustained our fragile earthly-dwelling that in such moments of our following so-human-living so often came again to haunt us.

Perhaps she in one tempestuous moment of so sublime wordless understanding knew this felt this fragility of dreams and having so lived and so touched The Divine no longer could bear the descents back to a living human hell.

So yes I would if only I could would go back to be with her again – joy upon joy, agony upon agony, anguish upon doubt. Perhaps perhaps I should as once we so playfully planned have soared to be with her then in that moment of her human leaving, to so shuffle off this so slothful heavy mortal life. For life just seems so boringly mundane without her, now.


David Myatt
July 2011