Passion. What exactly is it? Are we really hollow without it? Once we feel it, are we its slave?
Most of us today think of passion in terms of love and sex, or an ardent enthusiasm for something else. An ambition to win an Olympic gold medal perhaps, or to be the yellow jersey winner of Le Tour de France could be your passion. It could be as simple as loving a , or a football team, or breeding dogs. In earlier times it had other meanings: suffering, misery, a martyr’s death.
One thing is certain. Passion is intense and all-consuming. Angelus from Buffy the Vampire Slayer exhibited passion that saw some die, and others driven to madness. Angelus, the soulless version of the vampire Angel, was passion personified.
In the Middle Ages it was regarded as a type of mania, a madness. Something a lunatic would experience, especially during a full moon.
These days we think of it in terms of sex, or any other intense emotion such as hate, envy, jealousy. Passion is a stratospheric thing. You can’t like with a passion, but you can hate with a passion.
We want passion in our relationships. A few hundred years ago no one would have made that complaint. Perhaps they were right. We may only be physically and mentally able to tolerate a certain level of passion before we lose ourselves.
Thehave a legal term for crimes that are caused by passion: crime passionnel. Anyone committing murder when influenced by passion in has a legitimate legal excuse for those actions.
So if you were to ask me if I want passion in my life, I would say that I do. And also that I don’t. I want its exhilaration and euphoria, but I don’t want the shadow side of passion. The hate and envy that will poison every relationship if they’re allowed to. No. I wouldn’t want that.
But I don’t want a ‘hollow’ life. So yes, give me passion. Let my blood rush and my heart race. Let me scream with frustration, or love, or rage if I must. As long as I mainly get the highs I will tolerate the lows.