Pain as a prison
Jealousy is our material prison.
We are confined by a complex sex-sentimental system but, if we intend to escape, our gaze is directed in the first term, to as simple an element as the lock on our cell, to the chains that bind our ankles, to our handcuffs that should also be justly written with the postgender x (in Spanish that would be a pun). And that element of physical, sensible repression, which prevents the first movement, and objectifies our status as prisoners beyond the lack of freedom that the system condemns us to, even if it let us walk free, is jealousy.
Our sex-sentimental biography has been commissioned to teach us that freedom brings pain, that this pain does not make up for, and that the loving paradise we once hoped for is that in which the causes for jealousy have been reasonably extinct. The system of love needs our terror of jealousy to make us become supervisors for the internal closure of the couple. The price will be to abandon the aspirations of living love as love said it was: a carousel of passion. Since this change of expectations we will begin to call that way of love "immature love". We, who accept not to feel pleasure to avoid feeling pain, consider ourselves ready for real love. One which, after the behavioral therapy which the pathological jealousy cruise consists of, makes us show up in an unexpected station: Real life. Already our love is grey and invisible, we are grey and invisible, but we hold the capacity to face what the world expects of us as lovers: building a patriarchal capitalist family.
Once there, whenever the daily sex-sentimental routine reminds us that we are obliged to live, jealousy chains will clang producing chills inside us. Jealousy will harass our dreams with a sinister mantra: Do not hurt and you will not be hurt.
Some will, nevertheless, accept this suffering as the price of freedom. Some will even learn to live with it. But that will serve very little. For each one to succeed, hundreds will fall exhausted and will return to their cage, more crippled than before, and more eager than ever to find peace at least. The ones who escaped, out there, will find themselves suffering and alone. Or almost alone, which is almost the same.
We won’t break these chains by force. We must understand why we have them been put, why is there a jailer of popular extraction who believes in the prison which he locks us in, why we might be, or are, blood with blood with that jailer who always turns a deaf ear to our cry: "Do not serve who oppresses us!"
The material of which jealousy is made is the desire for freedom, struggling in the opposite direction to ours. We must refocus our efforts and make it a synergy.
To do this, we will start by returning jealousy to its original character of emotion identifying an injustice, prior to the cynical sanction which it is now marked with. For agamy will be no jealousy. We will speak only of "indignation". Then it will be easy to determine the universal moral question of whether each specific indignation is fair or not. When are we fighting for our freedom or only for mine.