Love is (10 of 10)

Love is…

Love is growing a garden and being able to do it without saying a thing. Love is a partnership in which one supports another through good times and better. Love expands. It is not restrained by rib cage, or heart cavity, or space, or capacity. I may love one, and yet also love another. Love does not limit itself; it is not bound by the conventions of the physical world. Love is truth encompassing a lie. Love separates in order to build up and reintegrate that which it has once separated.

Love believes in the other – it watches the other to see the small changes that even it did not know were present. Love is caring and concern. Love is causing a tear in your lover’s eye, and kissing it away. Love is causing the next one, and still letting it linger, glistening on the edge, waiting for redemption that does not come. Love is the way we whisper into the ear in an embrace. Love is kissing her under her chin when all you want to do is walk away.

Love is walking away when you want to stay. Love is staying when you want to shout in exasperation. Love is shouting when what is needed is the most gentle touch on a shoulder. Love is a gentle touch when really, what you need is a blindfold, candles, and a towel to catch the mess. Love is a blindfold when you ask for it. Love is a safe word. Love is a dangerous word. Love is an intimidating phrase, love is the destruction of pretense; love is the hope of glory and the glory of hope.

Love is a high culmination of feeling, of emotion, of trust. Love is dangerous. Love is treachery. Love is deception. Love is revelation.

Love has no bounds, no rules, no stigma, no “should”. No Shame. No regret. No fear. No wimpiness. No fear, no doubt, no hazard, no morality, no immorality, no loss, no gain, no win, no pain. Love has a core [illegible] center more precious than diamon – love has a covering more valuable than titanium. Love preserves. Love believes. Love win.

What is love? (8 of 10)

Why do we ask? Why do we put labels, definitions on this emotion? Is it because everyone has such a varied experience of it? Or, rather, instead, maybe it is because everything that we experience label it as is inadequate to describe that emotion? We use language which is not up to the task. How can my words convey, in you, the reader, the same things within my heart I feel? How could it possibly? Even were I to be successful in the first formulation – that of what I experience – into a written description which resonates with my own heart, my own emotion ,my own soul – even if I am able to SOMEHOW find words to express the depth of what I’ve felt – the breadth of how my experience has gone – the width of how far I wish to stretch my arms in order to encompass the feeling – even if I were, against the odds, able to share this, able to transcribe, able to capture (for that must be the right descriptive – capture – as if my feelings are a wild, [illegible] animal dangerous and roaming free on the savannah) even if I were able to capture that word, that desire, that joy, that openness, that lightheadedness, that world beyond sound and experience and smell and taste and touch – even if, If…IF I were able to detail, adequately, the impact of action, I know, know KNOW that without a doubt it would not, can not, should not, must not evoke the same and likely not even similar feelings within you, for my experiences are not yours. My heart is not your heart. My spirit is not your spirit. My past is not your past. And so we cannot read the same thing and interpret, feel, emote, move in the same way. Were I to read back what I wrote, I would be reminded of my experience. If you were to read what I wrote, you would be reminded of the [illegible] experiences in your shared history. Perhaps they are similar to mine. Perhaps they evoke radically different thoughts – memories – reflection. Perhaps it means nothing at all to you, and thus you decide to ignore it altogether. Perhaps it gets you close, but not quite there – Perhaps it is one of those “almost to orgasm” moments in which you have all of the built-up pleasure but none of the final climax. Perhaps it means exactly the opposite to you as it does to me. And thus one can never completely, adequately, fully share in this experience of love, of like, of hate.

So, then. Why do you ask me of love? Shall I disappoint you and tell you what it means to me, so you can misinterpret, fabricate, obfuscate your way out of understanding for yourself? or rather, and I think this is what I shall do – shall I tell you, “I know, but it is for you to discover on your own –“? Yes, I rather like that. That shall do for now. 

Good bye. Good Bye. GOODBYE!!!

What is Love? (7 of 10)

So you see, it’s like this. Sometimes, you like someone. You want good things for them. You want to see them happy. You want to see them healthy. And so you hope for those good things for them. You ask, concerned, when you see them, how things are going, and when they complain, you commiserate. You say, “Oh, that’s terrible. Oh, how can I help? Oh, can I pray for you?” You say nice things, and if that person offers up something for you to do, you do it. You wear a smile. You show up early. You give her a hug afterwards. You follow-up with a phone call a couple of days later. You write a letter encouraging your friend a week later, and ensure that there is extra postage on it so that it’s guaranteed to get there. You care. You do. But you don’t really love.

In the next step, you love. In this, you not only care, you try. You go out of your way. You not only call, you come over and bring soup. You lay her down on the bed and sit with her while she is throwing up. You run a cool bath and give her the time she needs to relax, to cool down, to reset. You wait; you give of Yourself. You let go of you for a little bit. You are more than a friend. You are a lover. You care. You care. You are part of life, and you become integral.

Finally, though, the last step is LOVE. Before was love, which was an emotion – a good feeling. After that – even further – down the line is LOVE. Not just sacrificing – not just giving up a little bit. This LOVE is more than just standing separate and encouraging. This part is integration. This is to take on another’s burden as your own. This is to become part of another – to have another become part of you. To segregate would, instead of bringing a split, would require a rending – a tearing. A dissolution. This is not easy. This does not just happen. This is an act, a practice, a process, which will not go down quickly. This will not be easy. Because it is not a coming near, as is like. It is not a coming alongside, as is Love. It is LOVE, which is a blending and an integration and a connection deeper than a physical one. It is a way to live, not just living. It is goals and dreams, hopes and aspirations, trepidations and fears. It is widespread panic infused with terminal calm. It is a terror of the heart; it is a torture of the soul. So – what is love? Who can tell?