More thoughts on marriage
Nov. 4th, 2004 11:37 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
judecorpLast night, I don't remember why exactly but I stood up from my computer desk, and Jen stood up from hers, and I found myself in an impromptu hug. And I suppose maybe some of it was spurred by the fact that we were both a little sad about all of the election day hey-hoo, but the hug turned into something closer, something more akin to providing comfort. And I stood there, with my nose nuzzled into the sweet skin of her neck and her hand softly stroking the nape of my neck. The warmth started in the pit of my stomach and made its way outward to all of my extremities, from the tips of my toes to the ends of each and every hair on my head.
We stood like that for several minutes and I remembered those days on the shore in Delaware when everything exploded into the magic upon which we built our foundation. I remembered and I smiled and I thought to myself, "There are people all over the country who don't feel this way, who don't know this power and haven't experienced this love." And at that moment I didn't want what the rest of the country had, because I know and have always known that the commitment of a lifetime is there in our hearts, that the promises have already been spoken and the contract has already been signed. And I don't want their words and their documents and their papers if what we have is more, greater, stronger, holier.
I know that so much of the way we love is wrapped up in the struggle. I know that so much of the strength that binds us is rooted in the fight against injustice and ignorance. I know that our union holds so much might because there is power when the oppressed unite. I hold that struggle like a badge of honor and perhaps I hold onto it too strongly. Perhaps I can't envision a world without struggle because it feeds me. With every kiss, every glance, every fervent tumble under heated bedcovers it is there.
We exchanged rings in the middle of our living room last October, on the couch, cats as witnesses. We exchanged rings and held onto the struggle, offered it to one another in silent pledges. There is no single ceremony more intense or important than that fire in my belly. There is no amendment or law that can take it from me just as certainly as there is no document or legislation that can give me more. This is everything and I don't need anything else.
It's really too bad that marriage is more than that power, that union, that binding. It's too bad that the meat and potatoes of marriage are the benefits, the privileges, the assumptions, and the allowances. Perhaps people across the country are worried and/or threatened that my fire taints their fire; that since my passion is as strong as or stronger than theirs they are somehow afflicted with my 'sin' by relation. But I don't see how my access of legal protections in any way taints or disregards theirs.
We often hear those people who state with sincerity that they may not agree with a particular message but they will undoubtedly fight for an individual's right to say it. And even if you may not agree with the inner workings of my particular heart, can't you fight for my individual right to express it? Isn't that what this big, great, wide-open country was all about?
We stood like that for several minutes and I remembered those days on the shore in Delaware when everything exploded into the magic upon which we built our foundation. I remembered and I smiled and I thought to myself, "There are people all over the country who don't feel this way, who don't know this power and haven't experienced this love." And at that moment I didn't want what the rest of the country had, because I know and have always known that the commitment of a lifetime is there in our hearts, that the promises have already been spoken and the contract has already been signed. And I don't want their words and their documents and their papers if what we have is more, greater, stronger, holier.
I know that so much of the way we love is wrapped up in the struggle. I know that so much of the strength that binds us is rooted in the fight against injustice and ignorance. I know that our union holds so much might because there is power when the oppressed unite. I hold that struggle like a badge of honor and perhaps I hold onto it too strongly. Perhaps I can't envision a world without struggle because it feeds me. With every kiss, every glance, every fervent tumble under heated bedcovers it is there.
We exchanged rings in the middle of our living room last October, on the couch, cats as witnesses. We exchanged rings and held onto the struggle, offered it to one another in silent pledges. There is no single ceremony more intense or important than that fire in my belly. There is no amendment or law that can take it from me just as certainly as there is no document or legislation that can give me more. This is everything and I don't need anything else.
It's really too bad that marriage is more than that power, that union, that binding. It's too bad that the meat and potatoes of marriage are the benefits, the privileges, the assumptions, and the allowances. Perhaps people across the country are worried and/or threatened that my fire taints their fire; that since my passion is as strong as or stronger than theirs they are somehow afflicted with my 'sin' by relation. But I don't see how my access of legal protections in any way taints or disregards theirs.
We often hear those people who state with sincerity that they may not agree with a particular message but they will undoubtedly fight for an individual's right to say it. And even if you may not agree with the inner workings of my particular heart, can't you fight for my individual right to express it? Isn't that what this big, great, wide-open country was all about?
