Rivers of ink, of paint, of blood have been shed to try to describe it. Thing?
Love, the great dilemma that man has always had. It has been called the executioner, but also the only medicine, but what is the first thing we think about if we pronounce Love?
I think of the famous phrase pronounced by Francesca to Dante in the Divine Comedy: “Love that loves nothing, amor forgives”, that sinful, passionate love of two lovers destined to love each other, as opposed to the disowned love of her husband by Francesca, that love that comes out of the box and goes beyond all that is earthly.
I believe that love without passion is not true love, in fact, it is the wood that burns and feeds the hearth of this great feeling.
Passion is an exclusive inclination towards an object, an intense and violent feeling of attraction or repulsion that can upset the psychic balance and the ability to discern and control. When a person truly loves he is unable to reason, he is crazy, all and dedicated to making the beloved happy, since his happiness is ours. Man is a slave to love, to that person. Sometimes, however, too much love and rejection of the beloved inevitably turns into hatred.
But the hatred caused by love is very different from envious hatred, it is much stronger, more resentful, it is the stitches that suture the deep wound caused by the simple gaze of the beloved.
“Odi et amo. Quare id faciam, fortasse requiris. Nescio, sed fieri sentio et excrucior ”, or“ I hate and love. For what reason I do it, you may ask yourself. I don’t know, but I feel that it happens, and I torment myself ”, Catullus.
The obvious desire to move forward, at the same time the useless desire that everything change and that it turns in the right direction. Hate becomes a kind of defense against that painful, unsatisfactory love.
Sometimes, on the other hand, too much love turns into madness, hatred towards oneself, which even leads to one’s own death and to the lover, as for example in the Triumph of death by D’Annunzio, Giorgio enveloped by his pain in living, drags in the deeper abyss even the beloved.
And we want to talk about those who think they love, but after the bodily “satisfaction” everything vanishes?
“The male was now satisfied but, apart from that satisfaction, he really had felt no other.” Senility of Italo Svevo.
We believe we love as long as the object of desire, that person so courted and desired, is obtained, obtained, becomes ours. Afterwards it seems useless, as if that were not what we want because it suddenly loses importance.
And we must not forget the love for one’s body, for pleasure, irrational love and probably without remedy. This type of love perfectly described in the She-Wolf of Verga, this woman exempt from any moral and sentimental principle makes prey and victim every man she desires to the point of violating family principles, desiring and possessing her daughter’s man. Precisely nicknamed “the wolf”, an animal that personifies greed, desire, greed and the insatiability of carnal satisfactions.
This type of people are never satisfied, they always look for that something more that makes them feel superior, better, but at a certain point not even they know what they want, thus developing a hatred for themselves, a kind of discontent. So what is true love? What we commonly call love is perhaps nothing more than a paradox, a much discussed illusion perhaps without ever really knowing how it was made, it could be the purpose of our journey that we call life.