Love-as-a-drug was a big theme I discussed with my visitor today, prompted in part by a still-in-bed-at-noon reading of a short story in the New Yorker by George Saunders -- an excellent, if a bit trippy, author. The story explores, among other things, how feelings of love can be brought on (and taken away) by drugs.
Love and lust do seem like drugs sometimes, and maybe they even are, to some degree. Maybe the key to being able to continue to enjoy them is, as with other drugs, to come to them from a place of knowing you are on solid ground and feeling good without them -- so that enjoying them is just an enhancement rather than something that feels necessary for survival.
I don't know, but I'm damn grateful for this recent opportunity to touch the place MM is singing about in these first two lines:
This is the part of me that needs medication
This is the part of me that believes in heaven
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