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The Living Room Relationships Passion, Love, and disappearance of Time
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Passion, Love, and disappearance of Time
A brief passing thought I wanted to share.

When we talk of Love, it is all about infinity. Together till death do us part; I will love you for ever and ever, and so on.
But while the rhetoric of Love has always to do with infinity, the rhetoric of Passion is only about the present. The burning fire. Never thinking about tomorrow.

Cleopatra supposedly, at one of her parties, offered herself to whichever guy who wanted her, for the whole night. There was one small price he had to pay - his life in the morning. There were several takers or so the story goes.  It is funny that Cleopatra, known for her beauty, inspires then both the stories of her endless love to Anthony, and of her ruthless passion.

Simply a passing thought on how both in Passion and in Love Time gets canceled. Either purely the moment, or infinitiy. The place where they meet is where there is an everlasting fire, and that sadly is only in Hell. Surprising no?

I'll mention that this passing thought came to me after reading Mont's post about Louis Armstrong and its ensuing discussion which got me to listen to a disc I have of his, where this song appears:

I loved your post Chris.

A small note, I wanted to see more Armstrong videos and saw this:

It is interesting how the image changes so much how one hears a song. While the first video read it as a womanizer (sorry, I just saw Britney's new clip today) the second sees a very different love affair - a love affair with his trumpet. Looking at these photos one cannot not think of his lips, his lips kissing the trumpet.
That's a passion that survives.

I also wanted to connect this to Molly's very interesting post  about Video abstracts of academic papers and how will the video effect our perception.
Oh, and I just saw this and wanted to add it to my previous post

The elision of time in passion, in love; and also in great work, in intense concentration, in moments of complete aliveness, in the production of art... 

In a cynical mood I would turn the question around: what happens to constantly plunge us back into this world where time again takes up its count? There's a beautiful line of Emerson in his essay on the oversoul, which I know I'm misquoting, but which runs essentially: why would man choose to leave the present, which is infinite, for the future, which is finite?
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Latest Post: January 2009
Number of posts: 5
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