Tonight I watched _Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind_. The film's strength is its emotional realism, put into tension with a rather tired science fiction premise of memory erasure and the aftermath of unlikely recovery.

Even so, I was moved by the film's sense of how the patterns of our relationship memories are based on concrete moments of intimacy, ones that create touchstones for the relationship. It is our interpretation of them that defines how they matter to us. Eventually, the film points out, relationships are like adulthood -- they become sullied with use. Can we learn to accept them and find value in them (and in our grown selves) given that this is so?

At the moment of the death of his lover Clementine's memory, the everyman protagonist Joel realizes the enormity of his coming loss and finally consciously desires the whole package of the women herself, annoyances and all, and how she transforms his life, for better and for worse.

That definition of unconditional love was especially affecting, since we'd been given enough to know why it wasn't merely sentimental validation but an eyes-open commitment to a shared life with another particular individual, and the real sacrifices and benefits of it.

The poem by Alexander Pope from which the film's title is taken is quoted within the film out of context. Yet, the poem's overall context helps make sense of the film's narrative. In the film, the verse is voiced by the Lucuna Inc. receptionist, Mary, as her feelings for her former lover resurface. Although she uses the quotation in an attempt to attract him to her mind, the quotation itself points up the tension between a pained lover desiring to forget the man who has caused her hurt and yet desiring just as much to hold him in memory if nowhere else.

The bottom line is that to have loved is to have spotted the mind, to have opened it up to desire and the pain of desire -- yet also to have made a connection that is irreplaceable and serves to form a good portion of who we become during and after.

Here, then, is a surrounding selection from "Eloisa to Abelard" by Alexander Pope, Abelard, of course, being the famous French theologian who seduced and secretly married Helois, only to be castrated by her angry uncle, after which he abandoned her, coldly, for and to God:

[in Helois' voice, as if from one of her two surviving letters in which she pleads with Abelard for his love:]

Of all affliction taught a lover yet,
'Tis sure the hardest science to forget!
How shall I lose the sin, yet keep the sense,
And love th' offender, yet detest th' offence?
How the dear object from the crime remove,
Or how distinguish penitence from love?
Unequal task! a passion to resign,
For hearts so touch'd, so pierc'd, so lost as mine.
Ere such a soul regains its peaceful state,
How often must it love, how often hate!
How often hope, despair, resent, regret,
Conceal, disdain — do all things but forget.
But let Heav'n seize it, all at once 'tis fir'd;
Not touch'd, but rapt; not waken'd, but inspir'd!
Oh come! oh teach me nature to subdue,
Renounce my love, my life, myself — and you.
Fill my fond heart with God alone, for he
Alone can rival, can succeed to thee.

How happy is the blameless vestal's lot!
The world forgetting, by the world forgot.
Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind!
Each pray'r accepted, and each wish resign'd;
Labour and rest, that equal periods keep;
"Obedient slumbers that can wake and weep;"
Desires compos'd, affections ever ev'n,
Tears that delight, and sighs that waft to Heav'n.
Grace shines around her with serenest beams,
And whisp'ring angels prompt her golden dreams.
For her th' unfading rose of Eden blooms,
And wings of seraphs shed divine perfumes,
For her the Spouse prepares the bridal ring,
For her white virgins hymeneals sing,
To sounds of heav'nly harps she dies away,
And melts in visions of eternal day.

Far other dreams my erring soul employ,
Far other raptures, of unholy joy:
When at the close of each sad, sorrowing day,
Fancy restores what vengeance snatch'd away,
Then conscience sleeps, and leaving nature free,
All my loose soul unbounded springs to thee.
Oh curs'd, dear horrors of all-conscious night!
How glowing guilt exalts the keen delight!
Provoking Daemons all restraint remove,
And stir within me every source of love.
I hear thee, view thee, gaze o'er all thy charms,
And round thy phantom glue my clasping arms.
I wake — no more I hear, no more I view,
The phantom flies me, as unkind as you.
I call aloud; it hears not what I say;
I stretch my empty arms; it glides away.
To dream once more I close my willing eyes;
Ye soft illusions, dear deceits, arise!
Alas, no more — methinks we wand'ring go
Through dreary wastes, and weep each other's woe,
Where round some mould'ring tower pale ivy creeps,
And low-brow'd rocks hang nodding o'er the deeps.
Sudden you mount, you beckon from the skies;
Clouds interpose, waves roar, and winds arise.
I shriek, start up, the same sad prospect find,
And wake to all the griefs I left behind.