April 5, 2017
Dear C—,
You and I should go up to Maine. Or go away to the mountains of Pamplona and live as expatriates. I’ll leave behind radical aspirations, settling into a life of study and contemplation.
During the warm seasons we’ll go picnic along the stream, and I’ll be sure to fish the trout out of it. We’ll pack a couple bottles of wine, putting them in new wineskins and preserve them by keeping them in the stream away from the sun. Have you ever had fresh fish and wine under the sun? It’s a pleasure worth breathing for. One should be careful when cutting the fish though; the scales work as blades and would cut you deep.
There you can teach me to be a good catholic. I’ll go to mass with you and hold your hand during the sermon. We’ll break bread with our fellowmen. You can work the library there, like you would here, teaching the little kids all your knowledge; and they’ll love you very much.
You told me once not to confuse love with being seen; that true love is hidden. And in the next breath that romance is the devil. Well, maybe not quite like that. But of course I would disagree, and because of it, I worry about the marriage you may fall into. What you know of virtue, you lack in romance. Don’t mistake the two to be one and the same. A virtuous man knows only insomuch as his romance dictates. Virtue cannot be free of love; otherwise, within the soul that it functions, it lacks the passion to execute. Or simply put, a principle without reason to follow is better unfollowed than perverted. If there is no anchor tied to the upkeep of the principle, better to leave it until the anchor is found. What good is it to corrupt a virtue that still requires the maturity of mind to grasp? Paul considers marriage a concession for our ungovernable passions. But marriage cannot be with one who does not feel the meaning of what I’m telling you. In this respect, love cannot be hidden, for love must do.
I’ll pray to St. Anthony that I’ll find you again.
Earnestly Yours,
Jacob Yusufov