Love Hurts

In the movie Practical Magic (1998), there are two aunts who sell magic potions.

A townswoman, who had shown distain to the aunts during the daylight, comes to the back door during the night. She scratches at the window. She’s crying and handing over fistfuls of money. Desperate for a love potion, she must have him.

Two young nieces watch from the shadows as the women play out the scene. Each little girl has an opposite reaction. Sally repeats anxiously, “I never want to fall in love, I never want to fall in love, I never want to fall in love...” Gillian says desirously, “I can’t wait to fall in love.”

I have a unique view as a mindfulness practitioner. When I see that scene, I see a clear description of the choice, and reasons, to practice a contemplative art. Or not. Of course, I do understand that the scene is literally about women’s needs for love and sex, and their pre- and post-pubescent relationships to that need. And also, I see every artist’s conflicted relationship to their artform, including contemplative arts and meditation practice.

Back in November, I was seeing articles reflecting on the autumn and ending, and poems reflecting on the poignancy of life and thereby death.

And now this new February season offers a different flavor of poignancy. I’m feeling the ancient bones beneath Valentine urges. The swelling at the end of branches might, or might not, decide to bud. Last season’s seeds browning under the ground might, or might not, reveal a pale green sprout. I feel a painfulness in it, a questioning before making another leap into re-loving the world one more time.

For this Sunday’s Studio News, I’ve offered you a reflective moment on the seasonal shifts. Always feel free to add your experiences to the comments section or to use the contact form.

Take care,

Gena Bean
Lead Teacher
Mindful Boston

PS- The child who never wanted to fall in love created a version of a True Love Spell with a twist- it is a spell for a person who has to be impossible.

She tells her sister, “That’s the point. The guy I dreamed of doesn’t exist. And if he doesn’t exist, I’ll never die of a broken heart.”