With commercialism rampant in today's society, one wonders exactly why things like Valentine's Day has retained its name. Or, at least, I do. It's the day of love. Chances are, when you walk down the street, you'll run across more people making out than you care to see. I actually laugh out loud as I pass by them, but most people don't care. To them, the feast is Bacchanalian in nature only, and the feast of a Saint who's legend includes being martyred for celebrating Catholic marriages without empirical consent returns to the more carnal celebration of Lupercalia. With the surge of paganism as an acceptable religion, I'm almost surprised to not see the old pagan holidays resurrected in place of the Christian ones, no matter how badly the original Christian meaning of the holiday (or Holy Day) has been distorted.
I have no problem with Valentine's Day. It was always a day that I looked forward to at Christendom. It was the one time of year that I could write silly poems and get away with it, all for the amusement of the fairer sex. Had I written a poem for any woman there at any other time, I would be accused of stalking, but on this very special day, the giving of roses and poems describing affection to the girls was completely acceptable, and even welcomed by them -- or most of them anyway. There were always a few that hated it for whatever various reasons, but the solution for them was a simple one: don't participate. Go out to eat with your friends and avoid the Commons on that night, for there would be girls enjoying and sharing each other's poems, guys passing out flowers left and right, serving dinner and desserts, and there would be a dance later -- it was expected, and it was fun for almost everyone. But, as I said before, to those for whom it wasn't fun, whether it be someone who just broke up, or someone who hated the commercialism, or, worse still, someone who hated any such displays, deeming them unfit for the public eye, their solution was a simple one: don't be there.
On a more spiritual sense, this would lead me to talk about love. What is love? Love is not simply feeling all mushy over someone. Love does not intrinsically contain butterflies. Love is a conscious decision that a person makes to another person. Along those lines, true love can only be shared by people. Loving an object is not true love. Don't get me wrong, I love pecan pie, I love big trucks and muscle cars, and I love exercising in the gym. But there is no real love there. Strong attraction, yes; a feeling of connection, yes; love, no. Exercise can no more reciprocate true love than the sound of a 641 horsepower V12 7.3 L engine can tell me anything but, "I'm fun to drive."
Of course, right now, I'm more inclined to drive such a car, simply because of the commitment that love requires. And just like a car needs to be fixed, even more so does a loving relationship need maintenance.
But I am out of my league for now. I am not in a relationship, and have not been in a serious relationship for a long time. Although I'm open to whatever God wills, I'm not planning to get into one either. I'm not prepared now in any capacity to reciprocate the highest possible connection between two people (aside, of course, from what is required by Christian charity), and I don't see myself ever being prepared for anything of the sort.
With that said, I hope you all have a very Blessed and Happy Feast of St. Valentine the Martyr (or Valentine's Day, whatever you wish to call it).
This blog contains the random thoughts that enter into my mind. Most of these will be of a serious nature that I will then proceed to mangle until unrecognizable. But I may yet discover truth in something...