I just googled "All conquering love" to see what the internet had to say about it. On the first page there were three biblical references, one mystic's book on the topic, another mysterious book ad with no blurb, an ancient greek reference, a reference to a personality disorder, an article on a mother's love for her disabled child, one poetry board lamenting lost love, and two pessimistic forums wallowing in the fact that there is no such thing as true love.
That is a very sad state of affairs. Only one story of true love.
I'm sure the mystic and the Christian's believe that the love they have for their gods and fellow man is the same all conquering love, but how many of them would really put their lives on the line just to maintain that relationship?
Hmmm, not that I really believe that wanting to die for someone should be the test of true love. That would be rather pointless, the minute you find someone you truly care for, one or other of you would have to step in front of a bus to prove it...oh and don't forget to put clean underwear on before you do so, otherwise your poor mother might die of embarrassment thinking that she didn't raise you properly.
What brought about this train of thought was another film I've just watched "Gods and Monsters" . Fairly wooden acting, but Brendan Fraser is generally pretty ordinary, however the theme of the movie was lovely. It came down to the love for an eccentric old gent who was determined to stir the possum, and hopefully provoke his own death. He did his best to dehumanise his friends, to twist them into monsters from his movies, so that he could escape the monsters of his past...yet it was the love that spared them that fate, and in the end it was also love that enabled him to take his own life...a life that ended with dignity and love, rather than hatred and the corruptness. So basically a story about love conquering all.
I know you're wondering how love conquered all if the old guy still topped himself? He'd lived a full life, and now that he was at the end of it all, he was suffering from almost daily strokes, and slowly his mind was being corrupted from within. So a fairly dignified death, whilst he still had his faculties, was surely the better option.
I was talking to Maria the other day about novels, and we were comparing fantasy and sci-fi to romance novels, saying that basically they are just a bit of fluff and nonsense...but that they still had a role to play in literature simply because they filled a certain need within the reader. Now, I ought to qualify that statement by also stating that I like reading all of those genres...as much as I do crime, mystery or historical novels...I even throw in the odd classic, just so that I can roll about laughing at how badly written the trash is that I normally read. That being said, all of those novels are purely written so that you can escape into a wonderous life that is not your own.
You may be seeking a true love, or a puzzle to solve, a quest to turn you into a hero or heroine, or some other impossible thing to make your world seem less real. At least that's generally what I do when I read. I want a world to immerse myself into, I'm not all that fussed with how badly it's written, as long as the lead is someone that I want to be. I feel much the same about movies or even tv. Perhaps that's a problem? That I'm too busy escaping from this world that I don't see the wonders around me?
A recent sci-fi I read was "The Host", and the aliens who'd taken over Earth and inhabited human bodies, had removed the violence from the world. They showed bland television programs, because nothing ever happened, and everyone was nice to each other, sport was played so fairly that for every goal that one team scored the opposing team was also allowed to score one. There was no drama left to write or talk about, but there was also a lack of passion. The few Earthling's who remained in control of their bodies, found tv too boring to watch...and the aliens to inhuman to relate to. The book was about the juxtaposition between the gain of society being so peaceful against the loss of passions that made us human. Eventually the humans won in a fashion...an alien who'd experienced the passion of a human who's mind would not be subdued, turned against her own kind opting to live as a human would.
I suppose that I am the alien, who choses to forgo the company of my own species, for that of a more exciting life in the make believe world. Perhaps I just feel so dead inside, that any opportunity to feel an extreme emotion, is like using electro shock panels upon my empty chest?
LOL, or perhaps I'm just a romantic, wanting to be swept off my feet and carried into a world more real than this one?