The Falling Man

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The continuing saga of falling in love forever.
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There once was a man who fell in love with the most beautiful woman in the world. And this was as infinite a fall as there can possibly be, for in his determination to reach the most unreachable places of her soul, the falling man recognized no bounds or limitations. The only thing he recognized was that the value of her soul was equal to, if not greater than, the efforts necessary to uncover it. And he was willing to put forth great effort, not because he wanted to claim such a thing for himself, but because that was the greatest gift which he could ever conceive of presenting to her. It became self-perpetuating on some levels, for the more of her soul he uncovered, the more he fell in love with her and hungered to clear away the dust that partially obscured its luminescence.

And as he fell, he began to realize the strange geometries and abstract physics of love; for while falling represents a descent, to this man there was no higher pinnacle in his life than those times at which he had fallen the hardest. The fall was continuous, unstoppable even if he wished it so; but as time went on, he discovered that on those occasions when he did not push against love’s gravity, but surrendered to its will, there was an almost transcendent exhilaration associated with this effortless fall. Conscious attempts to control his fall almost always resulted in a frustrating loss of balance and a distortion of his equilibrium; he often became unable to discern up from down, left from right, front from back. But when he placed his trust in love, without question or doubt, the speed at which he fell reached epic velocities. For he had forgotten one basic fact, something so true to the nature of love that it shamed him to realize that it had ever escaped his consciousness - he was not falling alone.

Every push was a push against his love; when he struggled for control, he fought against her. Far too often their inability to work together resulted in a writhing, spinning, but ultimately stationary mass. When they relaxed into each other, however, their minds clear of all but their love for each other, they were able to soar anywhere, even exploring seemingly empty corners of love’s realm that had been untouched by the eyes of other lovers for untold ages.

To the falling man, this journey seemed like a dream, the vastness of love’s realm contained within the crystalline scope of what he now recognized as his love’s soul. What before had been mere glimpses of diamond brilliance from afar now showed themselves as an infinite collection of treasures at which he could only marvel, open-mouthed. Here and there, scattered on the ground, were tiny sapphires like frozen tears, which thawed in one’s hand to release the perfume of roses on a summer night. And as for roses, there were entire gardens of wild blooms whose petals fell with the sound of children’s laughter; an errant breeze produced such a joyous din that the man wept at the prospect of the family they could raise together. And where his tears struck the ground, new blossoms sprang up, thirsty for his love. Through the air spun tiny, iridescent creatures, flitting gossamer-winged from blossom to blossom, whose basic hue changed with every beat of his heart. Everywhere he looked there were paths created by the passage of her mind, some worn smooth from frequent use, others wild and overgrown through long neglect. As they glided along his sight turned and twisted this way and that, trying without success to encompass everything he saw into a manageable scope.

Along with the bright and beautiful images that fell upon his eyes were those of a darker aspect as well. A well-traveled path brought them to the shores of a black, rank-smelling lake, whose beaches shared the desolation of a barren moonscape. Occasional vegetation grew here and there, drooping over the still water, but their branches bore neither leaf nor fruit. The falling man sat upon the shore for a bit, tossing tiny pebbles into the murk to watch them disappear noiselessly beneath the oily surface, and pondered the genesis of this oppressive body of water. Although he had an inkling of the well from which it sprang, his companion offered no further insight, and he chose not to pry.

Further on down the shore a cliff loomed out of the murk, forcing their steps directly up to the water’s edge. As he trod gingerly along the path, instinctively avoiding the small waves which lapped incessantly against the shore, the falling man heard the sound of a child weeping. He picked up the pace a bit, until he discovered a small door set into the rock, behind which was the apparent source of melancholia. There were no windows, keyholes, or even a knob on this door, but from a tiny crack at its base ran a miniscule trickle of tears which had created a small groove in the path before running into the lake. As the falling man stood there for a minute, taking in all this signified, the sobbing increased in volume until it became a banshee wail, wordlessly telling a tale of such despair and hopelessness that he immediately put his hand to the door to find any possible access.

His companion quickly reached out her own hand to stop him, and when he looked at her face, tears standing out in her eyes, and saw her shake her head in mute protest before lowering it submissively, he slowly pulled his arm back. His heart, which had felt light as a feather when they first entered this space, now weighed on him as heavily as the oppressive cliff beneath which they stood. In silent, mutual agreement, the two took flight again, back to the worlds with which they were both more familiar, where pain, although sharper, was at least manageable. And as they flew, the falling man pondering all that he had seen, he realized that uncovering his love’s soul, like falling in love, was perhaps a process best left to mutual discovery, not a task that he could vaingloriously undertake on his own.

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