Painting: De Tanzerin By: Gustav Klimt

All she had ever wanted was to be loved. That was all. She didn't have to be rich, didn't need a lot of luxuries or require any toys. She just wanted to be loved. Desperately, completely, passionately. Just once she wanted to know the all-encompassing, vibrant, fulfilling kind of love where both parties are committed to each other equally, strongly, fully and forever. She had seen that kind of love between others. She knew it existed. More than anything, she wanted to taste it for herself. It was, of course, the one thing denied her.

She often wondered when and why her fate had been sealed. What act, what choice ... what karma had brought her to this reality? Try as she might, she could not pinpoint anything that might have triggered it. But then could the reason even be retrieved in the memories of one short lifetime? Perhaps the root of it lay beyond the pale, in former existences.

It had been her destiny from the very first moment, it seemed, to love in vain. But was this phenomenon truly destiny, or was it choice? Was it her choice, her subconscious choice, to deny herself the love she said she wanted by always pursuing the love she couldn't, or shouldn't, pursue?

She wondered about this.

She wondered about other things, too. She wondered what good this "loving in vain" crap was doing anybody. Was it helping her? Was it helping someone else? Could any benefit at all be derived from it? She had to know. She just had to know if it had any value. For anyone.

They say that which does not kill us makes us stronger ... could that be the key? Was she supposed to grow stronger and stronger still, conquering the last big dream in the process? Was it really necessary that this dream die? Must she bury it alongside all the others?

In a way, she wanted it dead. Pushing up daisies. She thought she'd killed it once. Thought she had stamped it out forever; yanked its long, tangled roots out of the ground, leaving not a scrap which might spring back to life. But she was wrong. So wrong. It lived again, as big and brutal as ever, terrifying in its countenance, ruthlessly and persistently stalking her on the path.

When one loves in vain, one becomes experienced in letting go. She wondered about letting go. Why must she always be the one to let go? All around her she saw people holding on, being held in return. Why not her? Doesn't there finally come a time, she asked herself, when letting go is no longer necessary? When one can hold on instead?

After all, how long can one keep up the pace? How long can one sustain the energy for such a hopeless mission? What happens when weariness warms its feet at your fire? When you become tired of letting go and tired of sacrificing and tired of endless frustration? Must Death be the only bearer of relief?

Death was also something she wondered about.

Was Death going to be any help, really? Would it actually bring redress, or would it just propel her into another existence in which she must face even greater demons? She was not afraid of Death. Oh, she had been afraid at one time, but that was long, long ago. Little by little, over the years she had chipped away at that fear until now she wondered if she might actually welcome it. She wondered if that was the reason she flung herself headlong at it, waved the red cape in front of it, defied it to take her. Was she so fixed, so determined in her desire to be free of desire that she would flirt openly with Death, ignoring the consequences? Or did she simply have one last cruel joke to play on herself?

The questions tumbled and leapfrogged inside her head until they began to get in the way of the perspectives, who organized a protest rally complete with signs and chants, knocking equanimity off his formerly safe perch on the fence.

"To hell with it," she said, and rolled another joint.

youngblood

Youngblood Brasket is a storyteller who shares her home, with cats Harmony and Bandon, a rabbit, a field mouse and various creatures of the forest on the Texas Gulf Coast. Her varied background includes freelancework in petrochem, the oil patch, trucking, and construction. Youngblood has also tried her hand as a rigger helper, ironworker, demolition technician, roadie for a Rhythm & Blues band, and as a member of the aerospace industry, where she still works today.

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Bio: Gustav Klimt

The work of the Austrian painter and illustrator Gustav Klimt, b. July 14, 1862, d. Feb. 6, 1918, founder of the school of painting known as the Vienna Sezession, embodies the high-keyed erotic, psychological, and aesthetic preoccupations of turn-of-the-century Vienna's dazzling intellectual world.

He has been called the preeminent exponent of ART NOUVEAU. Klimt began (1883) as an artist-decorator in association with his brother and Franz Matsoh. In 1886-92, Klimt executed mural decorations for staircases at the Burgtheater and the Kunsthistorisches Museum in Vienna; these confirmed Klimt's eclecticism and broadened his range of historical references. Klimt was a cofounder and the first president of the Vienna Secession, a group of modernist architects and artists who organized their own exhibition society and gave rise to the SECESSION MOVEMENT, or the Viennese version of Art Nouveau. He was also a frequent contributor to Ver Sacrum, the group's journal.


Bio from The WebMuseum