Terence Trent D'Arby's Gift To All Of Us - Holding On To You

There is a song called 'Multi-Colored Blue' by Wynton Marsalis' band which reminds me of an unrequited love I held for a woman back at the end of the last century. I think it was the December of 1999 to be specific, or at least it came to a head then. It was a deep yearning and a hidden desire, strong enough to inspire me to write my first novel which was called the Bunyip Aristocracy. Never got published but I can understand why. Late last year I saw her,  eighteen years later, and I felt nothing. The zest and spark were gone. Something which had lacerated my heart and which had caused me to withdraw from my daily routine and isolate myself, go completely introverted, lose ten kilos and walk around like a zombie, had passed. In fact, often I saw her on my morning runs in Bondi, and if anything, I just thought she had poor taste in socks.

In March I met up with the first of my unrequited loves for dinner in Los Angeles. She had also evolved and changed. In fact I had spent time with her mother by coincidence when on my work trip in January. I could see the reflection of the mother in the daughter. The moment had passed too. If I were to ascribe a song to the period it would be Fleetwood Mac's ' Dreams ' and Carole King's 'It's Too Late' .

I promised myself in the early 2000's that I was done with these childish things and would put them away as if I had read, understood and processed Paul's letter to the Corinthians. But as fate would have it, it would happen to me again. This time, in processing myself through it, I will admit, it's probably been the fight of my life, stronger than any illness I've had to overcome, because it's just mental. It often has nothing to do with the other person at all. It's merely a glance at oneself and a feeling of inadequacy and lack of self-love. I recall in a documentary recently called 'The Defiant Ones' that Bruce Springsteen said of Jimmy Iovine that his drive and determination and creativity were probably based on a deep sense of insecurity which Springsteen says he himself felt too. Well, that's what I took from it. And certainly I think that a lack of self-love and self-esteem will shape that insecurity, some managing to turn it into art, others converting it into business and money. Regardless of how it manifests, there is always a reckoning.

In finishing a journal the other week I wrote that I am grateful for all these experiences. But in truth, I am not always sure that going down a rabbit hole helps a human being. In March, whilst in a hotel room in Los Angeles I got a phone call from a Californian bow tie customer who felt compelled to tell me something. He said "you must understand, with these types of women, their desire is only to capture the heart, like a trophy, but they do not wish to nurture it.' . It seemed too Odysseus siren-like to my mind. He went onto tell me an anecdote of his own life and there were some overlapping parallels. In fact it was a movie script his story and I'd pay handsomely to go and see it. A tale of a taboo love, extortion, blackmail, deception, theft, subterfuge and a lot of sex. It was one of those moments in time and space that I will not forget anytime soon. I thought I was on the set of an adaptation of a Raymond Chandler novel, especially given my choice of hotel.

But it was a guest at the Studio yesterday in Sydney that really gave me some fodder. It had been said to me by a friend earlier in the year whilst in a snowy ski village 'you might do yourself a favour and read up on Petrarch. His love for Laura was unwaivering, it's one of the great stories of unrequited love'. And Petrarch's story had lead Petrarch to believe that a chaste life was one that was beyond love. There was a tapestry on his Wiki page of the Three Fates (which I love so much) treading on love, suggesting that the trumph of the death of love leads to chastity.

And on reading Petrarch's words I felt as though there was no gap in time between what his eyes saw and what mine might see:

Breeze, blowing that blonde curling hair,
stirring it, and being softly stirred in turn,
scattering that sweet gold about, then
gathering it, in a lovely knot of curls again,

you linger around bright eyes whose loving sting
pierces me so, till I feel it and weep,
and I wander searching for my treasure,
like a creature that often shies and kicks:

now I seem to find her, now I realise
she’s far away, now I’m comforted, now despair,
now longing for her, now truly seeing her.

Happy air, remain here with your
living rays: and you, clear running stream,
why can’t I exchange my path for yours?

But now in the Studio came a friend with a more contemporary reference. He was such an odd messenger. He dismissed the idea that my concerns were about a woman, singular. Instead he suggested my issue was a compost of different problems acting on me simultaneously. And then whilst I tried to cut silk, he reclined on my chesterfield and said 'can I play you a song that I used to listen to a lot after my brother died?'

And a few moments later as I stood over my cutting bench, my eyes welled and my heart felt heavy as Terence Trent D'Arby sang this song.

And these lyrics, they just come to life with the music and tell a story that is repeated time and time again down through the ages of ages. As D'Arby says, 'they say all poets must have an unrequited love, as all lovers must have thought-provoking fears, but holding onto you, means letting go of pain'. Well, if that's the case, I've had my share and I would like, by the Grace Of God, to be done with it.

Holding on to You
Sananda Maitreya

I left the east side for a west coast beauty
A girl who burned my thoughts like kisses
She was down by street decree
She swore she'd pull my best years out of me
Fat painted lips on a live wire beauty
A tangerine girl with tambourine eyes
Her face was my favourite magazine
Her body was my favourite book to read
They say that all poets must have an unrequited love
As all lovers must have thought-provoking fears
But holding on to you means letting go of pain
Means letting go of tears
Means letting go of rain
Means letting go of what's not real
Holding on to you, oh
I left the rough side for a seaside baby
A chamomile smile that pouts on cue, ha
For every moment I breathe her sigh
Her bosom contains my sweet alibi, yeah
In an emotional mist she breathes in fog
And breathes it out as garden flowers
Why me of all the tough-talking boys?
I guess she heard my heartbeat through the noise
They say that all poets must have an unrequited love, yes they do, ha
As all lovers must have thought-provoking fears
But holding on to you means letting go of pain
Means letting go of tears
Means letting go of rain
Holding on to you, ha
Means letting sorrows heal
Means letting go of what's not real, yeah
Holding on to you, yeah, woo-hoo!
Wah, heard some people say that all poets must have an unrequited love, ha
As all lovers I'm sure must have thought-provoking fears, yeah
But holding on to you means letting sorrows heal
Means letting go of what's not real
Holding on to you
I left the east coast for a west coast beauty
A woman who wet my thoughts like kisses
She was down, down by street decree
She swore she'd pull my best years out of me
Fat wet lips on a sea salt canvas
Goodbye Picasso, hello Dolly
The soil is fertile where her footsteps trod
She's my new religion, she's all I got
They say that all poets must have an unrequited love, yes they do, ha
As all lovers, I'm sure must have thought-provoking fears, yeah
But holding on to you means letting go of pain
Means letting go of tears
Means letting go of rain
Holding on to you, ha
Means letting sorrows heal
It means letting go
It means letting go of pain
It means letting go of pain, yeah
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, whoo
It means letting go of tears, it means letting go of rain
It means turning the page
And letting go of pain
Woo-hoo, yes it does, yes it does, yes it does

Songwriters: Terence Trent D'arby