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Posted By Opening the Heart

Under love there is voice.  And eyes which cannot hide, which never lie.  Sometimes our best efforts at loving are murky, but during pain, or change, or toe curling joy, there is this voice that advocates for "a love round on the house," that wants each one of us to step in this river, to taste that mouth, a perfectly seasoned fork full of food, a lemony, minty iced drink that slides down smoothly.  To be held through the dark night into the light of day. To know the heart of the universe is a loving one, wanting that all our angst be met with an open, soft palm on the exact place that hurts. Our desires met, and then some.  Our questions not answered, exactly, but respectfully regarded and understood for the cacaphony of emotions they reveal.  We are left to sort on our lonely own.


Which brings me to this.


Under love, there is lonliness.  The separation of skin.  That I am contained over here in mine, and you, over there, in yours.  How it feels to sign off, or say "goodbye" outloud, and mindful that it could be the last time.  To pull reluctantly away from a body you want to hold onto, perhaps forever.  To feel the undeniable "I want you..." and let go at the same time. To have without holding.  To love, without having.


Under love is lonliness, and the times we wonder in the privacy of our own landscapes, where we are likely to end.  A coffin.  A grave.  An ocean.  A decorative, or simple urn. In my case, flung over a sturdy branch, belly down.  Food for the winged ones.  Out of sight from children because I would never want to frighten them.  Fire, my back up plan,

because it is the element in which I am most at home.  I prefer a branch with a view, and the comfort of anticipating sun on my skin.  Fresh air.  Peepers, and star light.  Letting it all go...me, you, and the myth of separation.


Truth is, I have always been with you.  I will always be with you.  I am with you right now, in this moment.  Here.  My hand rests here.  My heart rests here. Sharing your tea, your joy, your temporary sorrow.  You will forget sometimes.  I will, too.  That's alright.  We came here not to feign courage like stoic gods and goddesses. We came to take the human ride.  So give me your soft palm.  Let me hold it awhile.  We will practise remembering.


 
1 Comment(s):
Louise said...
Oh dear one. This is so beautiful. Love Louise
August 29, 2010 10:07:38
 
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