For months, I’ve been listening to the song Dulcinea. When I
first listened, I cried.
Sometimes, when I listen to this song, when I’ve been alone
in my room for too long and I’ve begun to feel insane and worthless, I still
cry.
The song is sung by Don Quixote, a crazy man: he believes he is a valiant knight, he
fights imaginary monsters and he dreams impossible dreams. Everyone agrees that
he is a fool.
The song is sung for a barmaid, some down-and-out wretch
slinging beer.
She’s common. She’s nothing. She’s only worth sex and beer.
But in Quixote’s eyes she is everything. “I have dreamed
thee too long, never seen thee or touched thee, but known thee with all of my
heart.”
Quixote had never really believed a woman as perfect as his
Dulcinea could even exist… but suddenly here she is, his prayer turned to
flesh. “I see heaven when I see thee, Dulcinea.”
Quixote had lived his whole life desperately wishing to find
her, and now she’s within his
hand’s reach. “Let my fingers but see, thou art warm and alive, and no phantom
to fade in the air.”
For Quixote his delusion is ecstasy.
But for Dulcinea, to have a man poeticizing her presence, a man
telling her that she’s beautiful, special and perfect when no man has ever said
anything but that she’s worthless… well a stupid girl could begin to believe
that maybe it could be true… maybe she could be important. Maybe she
could be someone's song.
But then to have the man rhapsodizing her be insane… this sort
of poetic agony is what great comedy is made of.
“Now I’ve found thee and the world
should know thy glory.” Then Quixote leaves her.
And now her knight, her mad would-be savior, is gone. And
she’s alone again.
And now the men in the bar begin to mock her. The very notion that she could be worth anything mocked by all
those who are sane…
The song makes me cry, because that’s the way of the world,
isn’t it? We find something or someone to love passionately, we dream that this
can save us… and be saved by us… And to us, our beloved means the entire world.
Nothing is worth anything without this dream…
But to the world we are always fools. Our dreams are nothing
more than wretched bar maids that men grope and mock and tell that they are
worthless.
But fuck those men at bars. What does it matter what those men
think of our worlds? Who are they to decide what is valuable and
worthy of love?
What we love IS worth everything, because we have decided
that it’s true. Their malicious thoughts can do nothing to destroy us if we
don’t allow them to.
Love is going to save us.
