I keep walking in circles, I suppose. Love confuses, if not devastates, without some precaution. Even evoking the word guarantees some confusion.
I mean, I know we can redefine words as we please. I’m not trying to hit a moving target. But the target is still too amorphous, and our best shot is through the overused word.
Grow old enough and you think being battleworn means being a grouch and guarded. Where cynicism is wisdom. That you’re wiser for seeing the worst, and draining colors out of everything.
Now, before we fall into that valley, let’s redirect. To find some better ground, check out this etymological root of love.
To have trace roots with Belief among other things… is an interesting discovery. For Love to be discovered through Belief, would you say?
And so I tell you and I tell you this now: it is love, love, it is love for the reason behind everything. Love is the primordial substance that drives us to this day. What else compels you to get up in the morning? It is out of love for your body, however twisted that may seem.
And twisting your mind in such ways feels like an atrophied muscle. Akin to walking upon your two feet for the first time, not that you would remember the penultimate moments before that. Reaching toward the sky, aren’t we? Still we’ll stumble. We still have those much more patient holding our hand though. (Do you believe that?)
But as someone who has swallowed much black bile, much disdain, and many ulcers sustained – let me tell you, even if everything crumples, love is still the reason. Slice through all light and find it bubble together quicker into a cake one’s ensconced in.
So now as someone who seeks much rainbow residue, dear dovesongs and upsydaisies toward Umbriel – there is redemption.
When you feel the love in angels, ghosts and marquess waltzing around – the Divine music slowly envelopes the room, every room, every life. Take up your mantle, my budding aristocrat!
There’s such warmth to be found in love, and it’s not as a pure receiver – where you’re waiting for love (which is already so, yet unperceived) – however that much we may be, it is best felt when redirected, or attracted, amplified through one’s own loving.
What do you love? So much to choose from!
In short, love was always the answer.
I read it so many times, and it rarely registers. But it was, it seems to be!
The irony of stagnation is to believe all experiences have a neatly ordered correspondence to value extracted. A flat exchange rate. An outing with friends results the same, so I thought.
But never could I be more wrong. The exchange rate is up to us!
The five year old child with tears of joy, fumbling with a newly introduced family puppy in their arms – variance!
Let the trees clasp their hands, the flowers flutter petals of pearl – the ceremonial finale makes itself sustained, concentrated spindles of love. One who reverbs the right way, a love at bay – how I hope we all keep it gently flowing!
No more need for stories; you’re in one!
Love seeketh not Itself to please,
Nor for itself hath any care;
But for another gives its ease,
And builds a Heaven in Hells despair.