Saturday, February 29, 2020


It's funny how, so far, these words play into and off of each other.

It's not so funny how they're showing me up.

Passion, after all, is what motivates both commitment and risk.

Passion comes from the Latin "to suffer", whence we get "Passion of the Christ", the account of the arrest, trial, and crucifixion. The word  didn't gain its current meaning until some sixteen centuries later.

I used to believe I was a passionate man. Life experience has convinced me that I'm not. I thought I was passionate about music. Naw. My friend Craig, he's passionate about music, and he's parlayed that passion into a comfortable career. He knew what he wanted to be right early, and he became it.

I used to believe I was passionate about words. If that were true, I wouldn't so easily tire of them after a few screens.

No, I'm not particularly passionate. I exert a fair bit of energy trying to remain even-keeled, which isn't generally compatible with passion. But I am drawn to passion in others (provided it's paired with compassion, of course).

There are certain passions you probably would rather not read about. You don't need to know, for instance, that my orgasm face has been unfavourably compared to that of a constipated rhinoceros, so I won't write anything like that. And the sounds....! Once you hear those, you won't even unhear them, so I will try not to engage your imagination on that score, either. Which is code for "I sound like one, too." (Talk about suffering...are you suffering yet?) Sexual passion is an amazing thing, don't get me wrong, but as I have said about eleventy dozen times, it's just one component of a loving partnership, and the love enhances the lust.

This is one of those words, really, that I don't have a lot to say about. It's largely missing from me, which is both a good and a bad thing. I'm not sure how to cultivate passion: it's either there or it isn't, as far as I can tell.  If you know different, please tell me.

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