Suppose...

Suppose that, being in love with the sun, you lost the light.  The world in all its splendour is still accessible, and you can perceive its beauty in spite of the ubiquitous shadow.  Perhaps you would rededicate your life to exploring that beauty more deeply than you had ever considered possible; perhaps you would use every sense you never knew you had or that you had taken for granted since your first days beyond infancy to re-engage and re-define your universe.  In doing so, suppose that you found yourself upon a path that was to lead you on a great quest.  Not a quest for fire or light, but rather a quest whose nature was based upon the communication of beauty in a dark world.

Now, suppose that, barely embarked upon that path, the Sun returned, except brighter and more splendid than you had ever known, a Sun that cast no shadows, that lit from all directions and yet radiated even the most distant and most obscure items into perfect relief and clarity.  Suppose it warmed you and nourished you and eliminated every need.

There are two possible responses to the ascension of the light.  One would be, I suppose, to sit down cross-legged on the path, or perhaps to begin to wander aimlessly in the brightness of the world.

The other action would be to consider that the quest has gained not only value, but also potential and clarity by the return of the light.  It would be to follow the path with greater enthusiasm and confidence, excited by the possibility of being able to finally see, and to see in ways that you never imagined before.

Now, suppose that the light is not some soul-less artifact of the universe, but a spirit akin to your own.  Suppose that all of this is just an impoverished metaphor to try to describe the feeling of falling deeply in love in the very weeks preceding your departure for the other side of the planet.  Does this change your reaction to the path or the quest that lies in wait for you upon it?

And now let me stop being coy and answer directly; to be in love is to cherish all of the paths and quests on which a lover embarks, confident of convergence.  I have written before that it is not about sacrifice, but rather the deep and perennial desire to make every moment of another's life perfect.  And I will add one more thing: it is also about the profound, unrestrained, unapologetic and unequivocal desire to see your love succeed in every quest, and walk every path, all the while waiting with great anticipation for the frequent mutual returns to Home.

There is a traditional Scottish song wherein the chorus is a bellicose "tha tighin fodham", which means, depending on the translation, "The wish was mine" or "It comes upon me".  Two disparate concepts in English parlance are, in fact, unified as a single phrase, and a single idea: that moment, or mission, or quest, or path that at once smacks of destiny and desire.  Love understands and celebrates this sacred idea.

And having been enlightened to the truth and possibility of this, I feel infinitely, divinely fortunate.

Implications

My brother hosts what is (and I don't wish to be told otherwise even in the face of evidence) the biggest and best private Robbie Burns Day party in the City of Windsor.  He has done this for the better part of a decade.  Without elaborating on details that should stay snobbishly exclusive to those of us fortunate enough to be invited, the plan involves preparing a haggis from scratch, watching Scottish film, playing Scottish trivia, singing Scottish folk songs, and drinking just an extraordinary amount and variety of fine single malt.

I mention it because I will not be there for Robbie Burns Day this year.

There is an expectation, I think, that I will lament not being near my family for Christmas, being in Zambia instead, where there is not even a remote chance for a white Christmas.  That expectation has allowed me to focus on Christmas as a sort-of gold standard: if I can get my head around not being here for Christmas, then anything else should be easy.

But the thing is, I don't particularly enjoy Christmas in the same way as others do.  I suspect that I will again in the future, but western notions of Christmas (if this is news) are singularly antithetical (or at least taunting) to umarried independent adult childless men.  It may be an arguable point, but that doesn't change the fact that the Christmas experience for me is no grave loss.
Burns Day is something different.  It is an important tradition, and I will miss it deeply.

Such revelations in no way diminish my anticipation of boarding the plane, my anticipation of meeting the people of Kibombomene, my anticipation of helping the good work of Same World Same Chance to progress, my anticipation of mango time, my anticipation of all that I cannot possibly anticipate at this point.  It is a simple and pure acknowledgement of something that is true about me, that I will miss Robbie Burns Day this year.

And perhaps the greater truth in this statement is that it is important for me to talk about whatever feelings and apprehensions I have, even when there is absolutely no reason to change them or fix them or alter circumstances surrounding them.

And I wonder if that's something that can be generalized.