We work our way through a range of insane definitions of what love is, what it should be, and how it should present itself in our lives. Then we spend many short lifetimes debating and insisting that it be done quite that way. Done. As in produced, manufactured, packaged, sealed and delivered to our doorstep. Quite that way that we always envisaged. It isn't to be, of course. Life has other plans.
Sometimes it comes to us, not quite looking like love. It comes in a tomato crate with creaking boards that bear splinters as evidence of the raw material quality with which the crates were made. Raw realness. Bearing also the traits of human potential. Not glamorous at first sight, but holding that ability to reach heights never before felt or experienced. Ingratiatingly, for the child soul stubborn to wait out the process of discovery, it might seem like an endless appeal for who-knows-what. But for the less compulsive, the more trusting, and the calmed-to-knowing types, this is precisely what they have been waiting for.
So, how to bridge this gap then?
Simply this. Love is rain and fire and air and solid ground. Love is all this and more and less and something in-between. But it is Love only when it has been stretched to its limits and shown to reveal an energy beyond your wildest expectations. When its all clear as to why. And the why no longer matters. When its all certain as to the how. And the how needn't make sense because its so far away from the beginning. The urgency for gratification is a cloak of heaviness that needs to be discarded if the love-seeking soul is to move unburdened, with lightness of being, into a field of discovering the authenticity of surrendering to all that is to be.
And the analysts mind needs to be shut down. Just about now. And Silence needs to tell its own story. And when the noise has seeped out, maybe then, Love might thrive.
Local Council By-Elections April 2017
5 hours ago