“Her yearnings are infinite…”
Empathy is the emotion of the personal. The snow and its cold are where people are buried. Beneath its flakes, there is the death of where people sleep. We have noticed of the towns and cities that are spread across the earth, that sympathy is now the emotion used for when one deserves to be equal. In death, we are equal. In love, we are equal.
Like a flower that failed to bloom, and remained as a bud, there is a certain woman with the name, Katharina, only about as beautiful as the black orchid, grown in Asia. She prowls these streets in France, in the city of Reims, cradling a child of no name.
In love, we are equal. For God, we are equal. A scientist will dig for truth, because a scientist has no choice but to see their own feet. They refuse to be blinded by God. It is because they believe God holds no truth.
The lack of a reality makes either denial or yearning.
Truth is the flesh, separated from God, or love, so that what is noticed is only the body. As Adam and Eve, who were once nude, before betraying God, their bodies were risen from the soil, and from death, or the soil, came the life that we behold for beauty. Beauty, which is the truth or the flesh, made shocking, when exposed. Katharina is a woman of no love.
“Little to no love…”
Without love, she cares little for what occurs about her. That which surrounds her holds no interest to her wandering stare. She is in love with no purpose for love, besides the cradled infant in her arms. An infant of no name, and certainly no surname.
There are flakes that descend and fall to land upon her nose and cheeks. They lay there against the warm skin, to then melt and blend themselves in with the blackened tears that wash from Katharina’s eyes.
She is surrounded by the stares of the people of Reims.
She is surrounded by their eyes.
Glares that have witnessed her deformed appearance. An appearance that is stricken by grief. A loss to which has touched her heart and has tainted the ruby orb into black coal. Metaphorically, this would mean that there is something she flees from; and as a woman will leap from one thing to the next, she will soon return to the center.
Outside of a woman’s home, there is the world. It is because a woman’s emotions, as important as they are to her, branch throughout the world as temptation. Femininity and temptation make business thrive. Temptation creates the fuel of lust to make beauty an alterable thing. A changeable thing, because love cannot ever be used. The limitations in love become an awareness to any human, when it is simply stripped away.
The home of a woman is the heart, itself. The love; and the streets away from it, are the veins. Are we as one body? As a species, we are as one body, and the roads that led out of Eden, were endless.
God has no wife, because He has no home, besides Heaven. For a man will make his home, a woman’s heart. God would have to make his home, as everyone’s heart.
Temptation is for flesh. Love raises flesh. After love is abandoned, there is flesh exposed to the cold. Warmth no longer makes flesh warm. A shelter, a home, a shield, or an encasement, makes the flesh warm, through love. Modesty is the love. Beauty is the flesh. When love is gone, there is flesh exposed; when flesh is torn through, the human has died.
Katharina’s heart is the cold stone withdrawn from the evermore cold river and held close to her face so that she may examine its appearance. If winds run against it, it would not become colder.
Love is the emotion of modesty.
Love does not show itself, so therefore, God would not show Himself.
To the woman, and her cravings or yearnings, would a man show himself, as God is asked to show Himself? A craving, a saving, and a woman who pleas to the Lord above. In turning away, woman is betrayed by God, or a man, and beauty is revealed.
A woman’s pride, or even the downfall of any love that centered herself, comes by way of following those veins throughout a city.
She walks, Katharina, down an endless road, because she has nowhere to turn, and no time to cease her pacing.
“A vein is as any other…”
Her face holds the appearance of possession.
Possessed by the limitations in love. She has exposed her warm flesh, no longer warm to the shelter of a home, and open before the descending flakes of snow. Like a canvas drawn with a nude for reveal, shock and controversy are there for viewers.
She walks with the infant enclosed in her cradling arms.
Her only love is the world.
The roads are endless.
She follows them like the veins from her heart. When a woman moves her arm, she moves a vein. When a woman moves her leg, she moves a vein. When a woman desires freedom, she doesn’t desire love.
Love freezes, encases, and imprisons a woman in a home. For a man, love traps him to the study and examination of a woman. She may see what she sees, but he cannot see anything. To pierce his eyes, would be simple. To pierce her eyes, would take raw masculinity.
What is Katharina?
She is a woman who wanders. The road she wanders is as any other vein, as the sympathy to which is offered upon a passerby. A road and its paupers are met by the sympathetic Saint.
Katharina offers a degree of sympathy to a pauper who passes her. Though, as he passes on the endless road, the sympathy acts as the road. No intimacy is shared between them. The road is as any other vein. The sympathy for the pauper treats the pauper as any other pauper.
What would hurt through empathy?
Everything would hurt.
And the pain would oftentimes be mistaken for pleasure.
Modern Romanticism 
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