I heard the song again last night. I know even Leonard himself doesn’t want it played anymore. It’s been covered by everyone but Miss Piggy. But, still. “Love is not a victory march, it’s a cold and it’s a broken Hallelujah” is one of my favorite lyrics of all time.
Yesterday I got a note from a friend that his dad had died, his last living parent. I saw on Facebook that, after a long labour, a woman I know gave birth to a beautiful baby boy. Another was gushing about her new man. In a phone conversation I heard about the hurt from a relationship that had just ended. All stories of sad, happy, struggling, life giving, empty, full love.
With over 50 years here, I’ve been at it for awhile, but I still don’t really understand my heart. Yesterday I had someone tell me my life was perfect. Not in the quality sense of the word, but the quantity – All that I am is all that I need. It often doesn’t feel that way. I stumble around seeking to add, to get, to have whatever it is that might solve the cold and broken part.
This is a hard thing we do – sharing ourselves with each other. You’d think over the millennia we’d have figured it out. Yet it remains the great human dilemma. Then again, maybe it’s not something to solve. Maybe, instead, it’s part of the whole and the worse needs to be embraced along with the better?
Seeking the victory march is like an unquenchable thirst or looking for buried treasure with no map. It’s the dissatisfaction of more.
In my world this morning there are those in grief, in joy, and in heartache. Loving and being loved is imperfect. Hallelujah.