Being alone – single, singular – is a good thing. I don’t believe in marriage, in tying one person to another. It’s an illusion, and it’s not for me. The reality is a life of indebtedness and resentment the very real fear of change and loss. Marriage is the fortress we build to keep the big, bad world out, but what we are really doing is fencing ourselves in, a siege of the soul, and in the face of impending starvation, we turn on each other, and fight for dominance, and consume each other in our competition for what little we have left.
Marriage is a lie we tell ourselves so that we don’t have to be alone. It is the fiction that one person creates for themselves and the other person. Its story changes according to the teller. To the outside world it has a familiar shape and form, a structure that is ultimately sanctioned and allowed. To the characters in the story, it has two perspectives: mine and yours. And in my perspective, my narrative, I can cast myself in whatever role I choose, whichever makes me the most comfortable. My perspective will never be your perspective, but we are both the narrator, and for each of us, the narrative is first-person.
Let me not to the marriage of true minds admit impediment.
Marriage is a set of lies we tell the other person. If we speak truth, the other person doesn’t have to hear it, because from their perspective, the only truth is their truth. How can there be true ‘marriage of true minds’ when we are each telling our own story?
What is left when one strips away the fantasy, casts aside the cloak of lies, and dares to stare reality in the face? I have lived a life avoiding mirrors and photographs, and now I must look at myself through the eyes of others, and know their perspective, because I no longer have my fortress and my walls to hide behind. And in knowing that perspective, I can cast it aside and hide, or accept this new knowledge as my own. But now, no longer ‘married’, I am free to choose.
Marriage solidifies, and you coagulate and take a certain form and shape, a bundle of scar tissue formed around the intersection of ‘me and you’. Fluidity is no longer possible. Shape shifting is sacrificed for that solidity which is the essence of security. But what if that security is truly only found in me, in myself? What would the world be like if we were no longer sold the lie of ‘the other half’, the relentless drive to be partnered? If we looked up and no longer saw our spouse’s eyes and form, eclipsing he wider horizon? What could we not do, or become, with such a perspective?