Dr. Zhivago vs. Personal Experience

Forbidden desire: iconic lovers Yurii Andreievich Zhivago, medical doctor and Larisa, aka Lara Guishar

She married to a man who later becomes a sociopathic murderer with a backdrop of the Russian Revolution,

Pasha Antipov, later Strelnikov, for what? For revenge and loss of a way of life, gone with the wind…

In the flames of war, and icicles hanging off ceilings, broken stained glass windows, because comrades cannot have more than each other…just basic bread, water, wood for a fireplace and unforgiving winter winds, snow, ice, and only vodka to fill your veins, not blood…

Irony, her name is poetry, for Dr. Zhivago is celebrated not so much for medical heroism but instead for his words of poetry

Which are sent far and wide, and garner attention of the Politburo, like today, via the world wide web, and this writer

Who is a large part Russian herself, unbeknownst before a DNA analysis, for the past was verboten, and Jews were fleeing the very pogroms that only reached little Masha’s ears when she was young, from the father who also fled us. For my name is commonly Russian, but Masha, not like mine, with the American R…but the blood runs deep and the story resonates, like ancestors forced to flee, or die trying…

Dr. Zhivago is MY STORY…of love strangled in the light of oppression, of babies conceived in haste

And abandoned due to severe conflicts, infidelity, revolutions with guns or fists between spouses not meant to stay together

But only for the purpose of bringing forth new life…Lara runs from the only true love she has ever known…Yurii, but feels that she has conceived, and was right…

Years later, reunited, Yurii meets daughter Katerina, about age 5…having grown up in Paris for safety

And the lovers rejoice, for what they have brought forth, and the love that stays buried at heart, but only rarely sees the light of day in each other’s arms…

Yes, I relate! I have known intense and searing love in this lifetime, scorching my innards, and making me yearn

But love is also sacrifice, and looking for the greater good, even when your heart’s desire cannot be met in the light of day, before witnesses, but instead quietly and alone, in the dark shadows of an apartment with dark blinds, curtains on doors, toys to play with, words on paper and on the net, all trying to analyze self, and get to another destination

With a future that is clearly meant to be with someone else. Again for the greater good.

But it niggles the soul a bit that there is this strange inkling that a love such as this one is not to be ever duplicated again…

And Grey’s Anatomy just aired a story like that…that a first date was so magical and touching that it was not to be believed, but instead to be resurrected and cherished when a woman loses her memory, and the doctors talk about her NEVER having a love like that again…so they save her boyfriend, and she comes to remember something about the date…

Why? The viewer wants her to have her one true love, because it is special and rare for two to be on the same page at the same time…again, I can relate!

My Yurii is out there! I feel him in my heart and soul, and wait, and wait…writing poetry instead of kissing him over and over again, forever linked by that poet’s dream-like love…how much is real?

And how much is strong premonition, or simple wish fulfillment? Lara did taste and weep for what was hers, but only rarely

As Yurii was married to another woman, who was blameless, and worthy in her own right

And who was civil to the known lover mistress, even though she did not want to be.

She wanted to hate, and blind and murder even! So villainous a fury it was burning!

But both women were civil, and worthy, and each suffered for her love of the same man.

Why is it my fate to relate?? Fate determined my attendance at Dr. Zhivago on April 19, 2015.

As we say in Yiddish, it was beshaert…meant to be, translation.

And my passion is Lara’s and Yurii’s…and my hope is for deliverance from emotional trauma

By the kiss that wants its target, a worthy man, who is nameless.

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