Dai.

"Jesus is like Santa, but not fat.  And better.  He gives everyone what they want.  Think of how many gifts He's gived.  Think of all the people on the earth.  And He's answered every single wish." - Dai Wadley.

The burden and delight of love - Muses from La Traviata

Opera fascinates me. 
Not in the -- I can't get enough of it -- kind of way, but more in the -- really? -- kind of way. 
But I'm drawn back to it. "Ok, let's try this again." 
Is  it the 19th century's version of 8th grade drama? But because it's set in another century and you have to go to a university to be able to sing it, then fancy people without enough to do with their time or money will pay $85 to sit in a semi-decent seat to listen to it sung in a language, that albeit beautiful, is not their mother tongue? 
I submit, that when examined, the plot line is repeated in grade schools throughout the world.  I want to write an opera set over three days in a jr high school.  Someone will certainly have to die, but that would be the only real shocker.  The rest is the same.

"I don't know how to love, wait - he loves me, so I love him, I've changed my mind, I do know how to love and we are together, but wait - I might ruin his reputation, so I'll go back to someone who is no good for me.  This makes him angry and mean.  But he is angry and mean because he loves me.  So I have no choice but to love him.  I do.  He does.  It's too late, I'm dying."

This is La Traviata - yes?  And despite my "really?", I'm completely smitten. 
It's gorgeous and passionate and I am drawn in to the story and I fall in love with Alfredo and the sheer magnitude of emotion that erupts on to the stage and into the first few rows is like having your soul cleansed of guile and cynicism. 
Opera is a love story boiled down until all of the extras have evaporated into the steamy air, then what's left is baked in the juices of emotion until so tender that the insides come flowing out so freely that one is pushed along in a rush of rich turkey basting love.  Delish.
And when it's over, you are exhumed of all the grit and grime that once encrusted your weary heart.  And now you are able to love; better and longer and with gratitude and vigor.  Because love is a burden and a delight.

I submit again - 8th graders know this.  Well, they've just begun to discover it.  By sophomore year it is well covered territory, and they are either delighting in it or carrying an eternal burden.  They get it.  They get the inevitability of attraction and the capricious nature of men and women.  It's alive in them.  You don't have to have cushy red seats and gold leafed everything and woodwork and tassels and impractically long dresses and tuxedos that don't quit.  But somehow love does look more mature all dressed up.  It's true. 

But the next time you need a purging of the soul, and you don't have $85 to spare, strike up a conversation with your local high school freshman.  You'll learn about the burdens and delights of love.  And you'll be better somehow.  Especially if you validate that passion and pain. 

Maybe that's how I should look at it. 
Opera is validation - of all we ever experienced in the world of love before we were swept up by practicality, responsibility, and a house in the burbs.  Maybe that's why it carries us away.  We know the story. 

Thankfully, consumption doesn't take us out of the game.  We live to die another day.