I love someone
who does not love me. Far from loving me,
the very fact that I love him—
this itself he cannot bear. I know this person cares nothing for my love or attention. I also know
that if I were to remove myself from his life, he would find it difficult to go on living. The man is deeply vexed with life and his own existence.
God sometimes falls silent,
and when He does,
living becomes easier if someone else, alongside oneself, takes on a little of the burden of discerning what is good or bad. I know I want to be beside this man during such times,
but he will not give me that opportunity. It’s not that he wants someone else to take that chance. In truth, I love him as much as he has never learned to love himself,
or has forgotten how to. The man is fearful and shy. In all the world, only with him am I bold and shameless. I don’t know what to call this; I only know I want to be with him. This irresistible love is one-sided,
but that causes me no trouble.
He has no need of me,
because he learned to view the burden of his own existence with detachment four years ago when his wife died. He loved his wife, and after her death, all his love and emotions died too. When I’m in front of him I can barely speak,
yet everything I have to say in this one life is meant for him alone. If I could stay by his side in life, if I could serve him… whether I receive his love or not,
to me that good fortune would be the very meaning of life. I know I am not beautiful, I am not someone who must be loved,
but I also know that if I stayed by his side, he would be well, and his wellbeing is my only desire.
Beyond this I can think of nothing else;
in exchange for it, I am willing to accept even his hatred.
For me, the power of love is great; for him, the power of prayer is great—
what difference does it make?
Is there really any distinction between praying and loving?
When he avoids me, I worry terribly. This inability to reach him—is he all right? Is he facing any difficulties?
Is his mind not scattered?
There’s no one to look after him! His indifference toward me doesn’t hurt me as much
as his indifference toward himself does. Ah, if only God had made me in such a way that he would love me, or if not love, at least allow me the chance to care for him—
how well I could have kept him! This helplessness drowns me in endless guilt. This agony I’m experiencing—what is its name?
Love? Or life?
Ingmar Bergman offers no answer to this question in Winter Light
(1961). And because he offers no answer, the film has inscribed its name on the list of classics. What has no end—isn’t that what endures?
Winter Light (1961) is one of Andrei Tarkovsky’s ten most beloved films. You’ll find it on YouTube, with subtitles, and the print is excellent!
I’ve decided
to watch a few favorite films of the great directors during this holiday. (And if I feel like it, I’ll share the joy of film-watching with you all.)