Perhaps, when we hopeless romantics finish our intellectual romp through existence, we will come to a place when thoughts and feelings merge, where science and religion are synonyms, perhaps even to a place where knowing and feeling of the relationships between everything realized and potential produces energy so vast that it cannot be contained in the membrane of our universe. Perhaps the sole purpose of emotion and intelligence is to expand, accumulate unto itself, and arrive complete at a specific place in space-time where the singularity is revealed as the only point at which energy is created. This may be the simple eloquence of intellect’s destiny and the birth cycle of the cosmos.
Perhaps, but not today. It would seem that the humility of words and the comprehension and conscious limits of the convergence of thought and emotion, at present day, further precludes an intimate understanding.
Notwithstanding, in order to reach the ultimate destination as physical beings, we must hit a few rest stops along the road. Realizing that our children’s children may create new boundaries, I would argue that true love is the quintessential guidepost and, simultaneously, the apparent speed limit for us: For now. Further, it is the most touted but least understood of all human states of being, the paragon of intellect and the culmination of all the what and who that have gone before, the nary point of arrival for a single human fleeting lifetime.
The few among us who have found mutual fulfillment with their soul mate, who write and sing and speak of love, provide hope of a deeper understanding of things as they erect their metaphysical mile markers along the road less traveled. I am drawn to one imaginary sign-post in particular, simple, eloquent, efficacious, constructed of old plywood, covered in whitewash with simple hand-painted black lettering stating, “free eats ∞.” It could have been laid by Tom Sawyer and Becky Thatcher at a muddy inlet along the Mississippi or absent-mindedly left in the basement of the Swiss Patent Office by Albert and Elsa and points to the restaurant at the end of the universe.
We all have seen the two enviable lovers, the eternally young couple entirely infatuated with each other at this restaurant on an innocuous Tuesday afternoon, eyes locked, hands touching, the next kiss across the table about to erupt at any moment, completely oblivious to the sights, sounds, and smells of the venue; truly existing in their own universe. They are connected physically, emotionally, and intellectually on every level of mind.
Upon absorbing the couple, many diners instantaneously transport through memory to a place and time of infatuation and may recall the unique scent of a lost lover. Some are taken to the smell but feel envy over the loss. Some, who have forgotten or never experienced love’s gripping force, feel confusion. Moreover, all feel somewhat relieved when the server finally intrudes on their euphoria and we can return to our conscious business at hand. All of us except that one guy who takes a break from his business lunch to observe their rapture without memory, envy, or confusion, but rather present relation.
He and the slight smile on his face go completely unnoticed until one of his colleagues, observing him observing the couple, states, “oh yeah, I remember those days.” He acknowledges the cynicism with a half-hearted nod, yet he smiles like a Cheshire Cat on the inside because he knows that later in the day he too will lock eyes with his perfect compliment and they, together, will enter their private wholly fulfilled realm like they do every night and day and every time they are in reasonable proximity. He is in a world without time, where nine years equals nine months and nine months equals nine years, a world of true love where infatuation never wanes but grows stronger. He and his true love followed the sign, walked the road together, and were destined to consume many a hearty meal at this restaurant.