Today, I came across something I didn’t know existed: paraklausithyron. Yes, it’s a word, and it describes something I’ve wrestled with for years but never had a name for.
According to the Oxford Classical Dictionary, paraklausithyron is defined as:
A lover's song at his beloved's door, in which he begs for admission and laments his exclusion. It occurs in a variety of poetic genres (e.g. lyric, idyll, epigram, comedy, mime, elegy). Originating in the real-life situation of the komos (‘revel’) through the streets following a drinking party, later it became a vehicle for the expression of romantic love, especially in *elegiac poetry (Latin), where the door itself receives greater prominence and is often addressed as a god.
After further study, it seems paraklausithyron is a term for a love elegy broken into its simplest components: lover, beloved and obstacle. It is a loose theme that poets and artists have visited countless times throughout the centuries.
Why this resonates so much for me is, well, I know a thing or two about obstacles in romantic relationships. I’m not talking about your everyday obstacles here, I’m talking about cosmic tragedies - situations that unfold in such a way that make it impossible, or near-impossible, for a truly loving relationship to work. I have a hunch I’m not the only one who’s experienced this…
Have you ever been with the “perfect” person, your soulmate, the one you were destined to be with, but through a morbid twist of fate it couldn’t work out?
Maybe it was because of something that happened in the past.
Maybe they were already devoted to someone else.
Maybe they decided they didn’t want children and you did.
Maybe either of you weren’t ready, for whatever reason.
The reasons themselves are less important than the situations they create. The “door” in the paraklausithyron represents the obstacles that stand between two lovers. In many of these stories, the door can never be opened, creating the longing and lament of the lover. Unfortunately, I am well versed in the reality of this literary form.
I know the feeling of being on the other side of the door but not being able to get in. The feeling of being so close to someone, but knowing it can never be. I have spent years knocking on that door to no avail. It has driven me into depths of despair, and it has driven me into madness. It is from this I have learned the true meaning of tragedy, in the Shakespearean sense, and although it’s painful, it has taught me one of the most important lessons I’ve ever learned.
Sometimes, you have to walk away from the door.
When you realize the door can never be opened, no matter what you do, begging and lamenting only causes further pain. To both the lover and the beloved. I have found that life gives us many doors, some of which can be opened, some of which cannot. The purpose is the process of learning which doors we can and cannot open. Often times it isn’t pretty, but it’s how we learn who we are, what we value and what we actually want out of romance and partnership.
Then there’s the times when the door seems impossible to open, but it’s not. It takes time, commitment and selflessness in ways we are not yet capable. In these situations, the paraklausithyron becomes the vehicle in which we grow into the beings we’ve always wished to be. It becomes the vehicle in which we grow up.
Think about the stories in your own life, your own paraklausithyron. Think of all of the lessons it taught you. Whether you walked away or fought to open that door, I’m sure it changed you in some way, hopefully for the better. I find it comforting to know that humans have been going through these types of experiences since the beginning - we’re never alone in the tragedies of life.
Come to think of it, we’re never alone in anything that happens to us, although it’s easy to think we are.