The Love Chapter: File Management

1 August 2025

I’ve been busy this week, reviewing the French translation of Chapter 43 of THE DAWN into L’AUBE.  I’m calling this punchy passage The Love Chapter.

So many truths of love, and life, are contained therein!

Just as many truths of love, and life, confronted me while I struggled to assess the mess known as File Management.

When I purchased yet another new MacBook Pro, in the summer of 2024, (not that much else was happening!), I was not aware that the entirety of my Cloud Life was dumped onto the storage unit:

Photos, music files, posted essays, long-discarded research files, makeup how-to’s, fashion design ideas, shipment-notification emails from online retailers, lists of future purchases For the Home, graphs & charts from 2018, Save America Rally pix from 2020 onward (the enormity of the masses of patriots is still staggering to see), unknown-to-me pet photos pre-2017 (those I immediately filed in their appropriate folders); photos of every rose that I purchased from 2020-2022!

You name it, the new MacBook Pro had done a thorough and automatic data-dump from the digital crypt.

I guarantee you, those 30,000+ treasonous e-mails are there, somehow, lost in space, like the Psycho-Emoto-Author of her own brilliance.

Not only did those images intrude upon the timeline of Me and My Muse, they completely introduced chaos into the chronological order of my lovingly sorted-and-arranged images stored in at least a dozen folders that I’ve been tending, like an English rose garden, for years.

Like saltwater intrusion into inland water supplies, these are the Californian corporate kooks of our lives.  There’s no getting rid of them, even with that bleach-bit imbecility!

The linear processing of my creative work places the utmost demand upon my putting The Past behind me, before I can move forward to future projects, or even the Future.  I do not like feeling held-back by the ether-sphere claw of digital efficiency.  I therefore took a break, a two-day pause, to peruse/search the Finder for things I do not wish to find.

I’m not done yet.  I’ve a sneaky suspicion I never shall be!

There’s a folder entitled “Music” that I took out of the Apple-storage shack and tried to plunk into Trash.  It was a no-go.  I wasn’t authorized to discard what Apple deems a no-touch Folder.  Last night, I asked Dear Husband what I should do.  He suggested to simply leave it on the desktop, and the Music Folder will find a place to go.

After the latest Software (OS) update this morning, the Music Folder is still there, on my screen, reminding me of how little I know about File Management in the New Millennium.

Dear Husband states that there are more refined and complex file management systems that I could try.  Then I can spend even more hours as my own File Clerk!

I shall stick with the antiquated metal file cabinet that kicked off my Website.  I’m a stickler for sentiment!  And, yes, I do suffer for My Art.

This passage in the Love Chapter follows the wedding of Odile and Emile, who resolutely refuse to register documentation of their nuptials with the Vichy regime.  I was reminded of my COVID-Vichy essay of Easter 2020.

Certain fundamentals never change.  The State of France, L’État, is one of them.  The misérable Macron got swept into power in 2017, running as “I am not a Fascist, or a Nazi, but She is.”  His allegiance to the EU Globalist Cabal has become an ugly reminder of France’s past, and her Dark Years.  Officially cozying up to a non-existent Palestine is the latest payoff-perversity from a guy who probably doesn’t know who he is anymore, so why should the French try to figure it out???’

What’s love got to do with it?

Certainement pas ce genre d’amour.  Certainly not this type of love.

Freedom is granted to man by his Creator so that he can love because love is the truest expression of self and of freedom.  It is a mystery, even a paradox, that man needs love more than he needs freedom.  Love is the end; freedom is the vital means to that sacred end.  Yet love is not merely a goal of attainment.  Love is a never-ending process of becoming what the beloved needs, and of becoming what the lover must be in order to attain this sublime duty and this sole transcendent commitment: the inherent, instinctive need within each person to surrender one’s self to the beloved.

Man is sui juris, his own master because he possesses free will, given him by his Creator.  No other man can perform his free will for him; no other person can act out his desires, his needs, his wants, his wishes, or his dreams.  He is the author of his own goals, his own successes, his own failures, hopes, sorrows, joys, his own triumphs, and, above all, his love for another human being.  Man is the supreme author of this love for another, a love which, if true, affirms the dignity and the worth of the other human being.  This love, this all-encompassing, all-enfolding, and all-liberating love is the greatest gift and the greatest creation of the free will of man.

True love is more than an emotion or a need or even a desire.  Love is a virtue.  Love is the most powerful act of the free will of man; it thrives only in truth.  Such love is real and eternal because it is born of truth; it is bound in truth; and it lives in truth.  This love seeks only to affirm, to honor, and to ennoble the lover and the beloved equally, fully, and forever.  Love is a force of will.  It is a need within the soul of man to free his heart to surrender himself to his beloved.  Thus, a lover no longer is content with his own being; he no longer desires his own entity.  The lover instead requests and beseeches the beloved to become part of him; he yearns to become one with her, to become her property.  The lover and the beloved become a unity which is always in the process of becoming, of merging, of amalgamating, of strengthening from within to become one.

This surrender of self is not the abandonment of self.  Rather it is the fulfillment of self through the true act of loving.  Shakespeare wrote eloquently and wisely of it; poets have spun sublime webs of rhyme depicting it.  Schoolchildren tease one another about it.  Love is said to make the world go round.  Yet here is where the Nazis and the Fascists and the Communists and every –ist, now and forever to come, here is where they all fail:

Man cannot live according to the will of another.  He must live free, according to his own free will and to the natural yearnings of his heart.  He must beat to his own drummer, not to the goosestep march of the dictator.  The Nazis imprisoned millions of bodies, but they never incarcerated the free will of those bodies to survive.  The Nazis never imprisoned their desire to live in freedom.  Their souls sought Heaven, even as they endured their human hell.  Man will always fight to breathe the air of freedom and to find the light of truth.  This battle, the fight to live in freedom, is the victory of free will over tyranny; the victory of free will over the iron fist; the victory of free will over enslavement; and, inevitably, the victory of free will over fear.

These victories belonged not to the vicious vile architects of Nazism and Fascism and Communism, but to every man and woman and child who dared to believe in freedom as a gift from God, and whose silent prayers for deliverance were heard by their Creator.  The dictators jailed and threatened and fined and pummeled and punished the rebels who listened to the BBC and who then spread the words of truth about their enslavers.  The evil masters could not imprison every brave soul which listened to God; and they could not destroy the noble men and noble women who not only listened to but followed the voice of God, this light of life, this flame of French resistance which, in other eras less cataclysmic, is known as a conscience.