Before I go on and you tune me out, let me remind you of how the dictionary defines "romance." Quite simply, here are two possibilities:
I offer you an example of such a quality of feeling you may very well have experienced at some point in your life. Consider this experience.
It is nighttime. You have just finished dinner at the beachfront cottage
you rented for a week vacation and time to get away from the stress
and rush and more-to-do-than-you-feel-you-can feeling. The night is
magnificently and alluringly beautiful as you make your way across the
sand dunes with their wispy sea oats who wave their tender tassels that
seem to be welcoming you to the glimmering ocean receding at low
tide to make way for you to stroll leisurely along the strand, making
your way into the darkness lit only by the stars climbing up and into the
sky as if to have a look at the beachcombers strolling quietly, occasionally
halting to reach down and examine a shell they stepped on.
The quietness ascends as the light descends from the beachfront cottages
giving way to the beach where no cottages follow, no business, no noise,
no vehicles rushing by, and no strangers or friends who engage you in the
small-talk of life in the quaint restaurants and small shops that have
opened up in the near-by villages that now host vacationers and a growing
number of brave souls who want to live here year-round, having found a
parcel of land that resisted development over decades but now relinquishes
its soul for the cash that seems to be flowing like the hurricanes that rush
into town, tearing up old homes, destroying history, and destroying a way
of life receding like the low tide tonight.
And so, you stroll and ponder, dip your feet in the water, retreat back to
solid sand and enjoy the darkness, the aloneness, and the mystery of the
night that welcomes you in the ancient practice of soulful solitude until
you are startled by laughter and splashes in the surf. Ah yes, you see the
clothes on the strand and quickly glance at the couple skinny dipping,
diving into the wandering waves, embracing, falling into the surf, chasing
each other in a ritual as ancient as the almost six million years we have
cavorted on planet Earth.
But an ancient ritual on the beaches of Earth cannot compare to the life-
time of our stars which may stretch from a few million years to trillion of
years for the massive stars that eventually collapse and explode spreading
a cloud of gas and dust that will form new stars. Oh yes, and some of that
"dust" falls on our heads.
However, on this night as you stroll down the star-lit beach, it is not science
that occupies our minds. In fact, what is happening is not easily described
because the night has become an entry into a great Mystery. You feel
suspended between the stars and the ocean. Each is a world unto itself.
We humans have not descended into the very depths of the ocean with
its mysterious landscape and creatures that never have seen the light of
day. And we never have gotten "behind" the stars to see and experience the
lifeline of their immeasurable existence.
What is this you are experiencing? Can it be described in any way except to
say that you have encountered the Other, that may best be known in the sacred
texts of our mythologies? As the American Museum of Natural History says,
we are the stuff of star dust that gave us some form of life that fell into the
ocean and made its way on land in order to stand tall and realize that we feel
a fascination with the stars because we came from their dust of elements
across the periodic table beginning with hydrogen and helium.
You walk slowly back to the cottage and struggle to find words that do justice to an encounter with the Other. True, it was a romance, "a quality or feeling of mystery, excitement, and remoteness from our everyday life." Your family members interrupt their stories and laughter to ask how the beach walk went tonight.
What can one say? There are no words, but there is music of a sort. You go over to the little Bose speaker and dial up Sinatra who gives us his 1962 version (the fourth time he recorded the song!), and we listen yet again to Don Costa's orchestra and Sinatra's voice weaving the spell of these words penned by Honey Carmichael in 1927.
And now the purple dust of twilight time
Steals across the meadows of my heart.
High up in the sky the little stars climb
Always reminding me that we're apart.
You wandered down the lane and far away
Leaving me a song that will not die
Love is now the stardust of yesterday
The music of the years gone by.
- A feeling of excitement and mystery associated with love.
- A quality or feeling of mystery, excitement, and remoteness from everyday life.
I offer you an example of such a quality of feeling you may very well have experienced at some point in your life. Consider this experience.
It is nighttime. You have just finished dinner at the beachfront cottage
you rented for a week vacation and time to get away from the stress
and rush and more-to-do-than-you-feel-you-can feeling. The night is
magnificently and alluringly beautiful as you make your way across the
sand dunes with their wispy sea oats who wave their tender tassels that
seem to be welcoming you to the glimmering ocean receding at low
tide to make way for you to stroll leisurely along the strand, making
your way into the darkness lit only by the stars climbing up and into the
sky as if to have a look at the beachcombers strolling quietly, occasionally
halting to reach down and examine a shell they stepped on.
The quietness ascends as the light descends from the beachfront cottages
giving way to the beach where no cottages follow, no business, no noise,
no vehicles rushing by, and no strangers or friends who engage you in the
small-talk of life in the quaint restaurants and small shops that have
opened up in the near-by villages that now host vacationers and a growing
number of brave souls who want to live here year-round, having found a
parcel of land that resisted development over decades but now relinquishes
its soul for the cash that seems to be flowing like the hurricanes that rush
into town, tearing up old homes, destroying history, and destroying a way
of life receding like the low tide tonight.
And so, you stroll and ponder, dip your feet in the water, retreat back to
solid sand and enjoy the darkness, the aloneness, and the mystery of the
night that welcomes you in the ancient practice of soulful solitude until
you are startled by laughter and splashes in the surf. Ah yes, you see the
clothes on the strand and quickly glance at the couple skinny dipping,
diving into the wandering waves, embracing, falling into the surf, chasing
each other in a ritual as ancient as the almost six million years we have
cavorted on planet Earth.
But an ancient ritual on the beaches of Earth cannot compare to the life-
time of our stars which may stretch from a few million years to trillion of
years for the massive stars that eventually collapse and explode spreading
a cloud of gas and dust that will form new stars. Oh yes, and some of that
"dust" falls on our heads.
However, on this night as you stroll down the star-lit beach, it is not science
that occupies our minds. In fact, what is happening is not easily described
because the night has become an entry into a great Mystery. You feel
suspended between the stars and the ocean. Each is a world unto itself.
We humans have not descended into the very depths of the ocean with
its mysterious landscape and creatures that never have seen the light of
day. And we never have gotten "behind" the stars to see and experience the
lifeline of their immeasurable existence.
What is this you are experiencing? Can it be described in any way except to
say that you have encountered the Other, that may best be known in the sacred
texts of our mythologies? As the American Museum of Natural History says,
we are the stuff of star dust that gave us some form of life that fell into the
ocean and made its way on land in order to stand tall and realize that we feel
a fascination with the stars because we came from their dust of elements
across the periodic table beginning with hydrogen and helium.
You walk slowly back to the cottage and struggle to find words that do justice to an encounter with the Other. True, it was a romance, "a quality or feeling of mystery, excitement, and remoteness from our everyday life." Your family members interrupt their stories and laughter to ask how the beach walk went tonight.
What can one say? There are no words, but there is music of a sort. You go over to the little Bose speaker and dial up Sinatra who gives us his 1962 version (the fourth time he recorded the song!), and we listen yet again to Don Costa's orchestra and Sinatra's voice weaving the spell of these words penned by Honey Carmichael in 1927.
And now the purple dust of twilight time
Steals across the meadows of my heart.
High up in the sky the little stars climb
Always reminding me that we're apart.
You wandered down the lane and far away
Leaving me a song that will not die
Love is now the stardust of yesterday
The music of the years gone by.
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