Page 21 - GALIET ETERNITY´S LOVE´S Epitaph: Bronte IV

Heathcliff and Catherine are soul mates made in the red petals of heaven: free and wild they fall down into the moors of innocence and roll with the laments of the wind. Where a moonbeam might desire lightning to sustain itself, thunder aches for thunder: break of silence. Fire. And like Laura Esquivel’s novel, Like Hot Water for Chocolate, these two souls made of one substance embrace fire and burn in their own love beyond one and thousand candle-lit stars. Soul wet. And we think of Gustavo Adolfo Becker: y qué es poesía? 3⁄4 and what is poesy? 3⁄4 “poesy is you.”
Heathcliff and Catherine are poesy beyond unlit nights. They are like sulphur. Brilliant. Like sulphur, their pure essence is beyond the fusion of chemical passions. For all its intensity, their love does not sulphurize with sexual liquids and chemical glue; theirs is a spiritual concoct 3⁄4 solid. One could argue that Catherine, in loving Heathcliff so deeply, negates herself when she says “I am Heathcliff.” Yet, this feeling does not need to be interpreted as negation, but rather as a unity of the self with another. Soul mates often share this intensity of love that is well beyond physical and reasonable explanations. Their relationship becomes a metaphor where loved and beloved, engulfed in a sea of loving energy, become the other, and a heaven, as if Love were oxygen. It is only when they can’t be together, that they negate themselves. At that point, there is no oxygen, and their love begins to suffocate them. There is decay. For they dwell and dwell in the same nature, in the same essence of being as if their destinies had been sealed with the passion of instinct before
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