Yesterday I started out at a rally at the roundhouse–our state capitol building. There were signs reading LOVE TRUMPS HATE. Now, national events have not spontaneously cured my dyslexia. I didn’t get it at all. I was reading it with implied words as THE LOVE THAT TRUMP HATES.
What love was that, I wondered? Well, gay love. Probably sweet young boy-girl love. How about old devoted married love? How about the love I was seeing around me?
Now, in a gathering of Santa Feans I can always tell that among our greatest loves are our children and our dogs (not necessarily in that order). I was seeing adorable versions of both. And if the presence of Sikh style turbans, hijabs, Pueblo dress, and New Age jewelry was any indicator, we were also pretty good at the kind of love that loves our neighbor.
I was musing on erotic love. Can it ever be selfless? What if the object is God–as it is for poets John Donne and Mirabai? Can caritas–that more selfless love–turn into eros or vica versa?
I was enjoying my thoughts–and a sip of someone else’s hot chocolate (eros or caritas or both?) when someone in my family who does not have dyslexia told me it was a PUN. Love is greater than hate.
We can only hope.
This nice free T-shirt I got is a bit existential. But I couldn’t pass it up, because I like free, red, and words. Since the rally was aimed at violence against women I’m taking it to mean that I–and all of us–are still here on earth and standing up–no matter what has happened to us. But I’ve been known to misread things! If you happen to understand it, don’t hesitate to tell me.