A variation on the judgment of King Solomon:
The judge rules that a young man be cut into pieces during a public execution. However, his mother cares so deeply for him that she begs the Judge to let her kiss him just once after the execution.
The execution ensues and the young man is cut into a thousand pieces – his limbs are dismembered, his nose is pulled off of his face, his lips are pealed from the surrounding skin, his fingers are taken out of the sockets one by one, and so on.
The mother approaches the pile of objects that were once “her son” and must make her own judgment: which body part shall she kiss? Shall she kiss the lips? The nose? The bone that once gave consistency to the face and all its muscles?
This is the difficulty of love. It is deceptive. The love of the image is the love of the whole body, not its parts. When one is confronted with a fragmented body one no longer knows how to fall in love. One must invent a new way of loving.