I managed to get out of the house and fetch some food, meds, and vids for the upcoming weekend. There's talk of possible snow on Sunday night, so it's best to stock up now before the rabble empties all the stores.
Among the videos I picked up was Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon which I saw twice in theatrical release. And I still weep like a baby when Li Mu Bai dies in Shu Lien's arms, professing with his last breath the love he denied during his lifetime. Big, fat, salty puddles. Sobbing. I was wondering why this could possibly be. I've seen this damn film three times already. I know how it ends. Why does it make me cry so hard?
I realized tonight - while I was sobbing in a hot bath - that it's the archetypal nature of the story that causes me to cry. As Shu Lien weeps for the loss of Li Mu Bai, I am reminded of the loves I have lost in my life and the love I have wasted. I am reminded that love is pain, and I don't mean in some kitschy, psychosexual way. To feel the pain of being alive - aches, irritations, disappointments - means that one is truly living. To feel the pain of loving someone - irritations, disappointments, betrayals - means that one is truly living. Pain, love, and life are all one. I know there's a highly educated logician out there somewhere who can tear a hole in my argument, but I feel that this is truth.
So, I cry...because I live.
Among the videos I picked up was Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon which I saw twice in theatrical release. And I still weep like a baby when Li Mu Bai dies in Shu Lien's arms, professing with his last breath the love he denied during his lifetime. Big, fat, salty puddles. Sobbing. I was wondering why this could possibly be. I've seen this damn film three times already. I know how it ends. Why does it make me cry so hard?
I realized tonight - while I was sobbing in a hot bath - that it's the archetypal nature of the story that causes me to cry. As Shu Lien weeps for the loss of Li Mu Bai, I am reminded of the loves I have lost in my life and the love I have wasted. I am reminded that love is pain, and I don't mean in some kitschy, psychosexual way. To feel the pain of being alive - aches, irritations, disappointments - means that one is truly living. To feel the pain of loving someone - irritations, disappointments, betrayals - means that one is truly living. Pain, love, and life are all one. I know there's a highly educated logician out there somewhere who can tear a hole in my argument, but I feel that this is truth.
So, I cry...because I live.
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