Remembering Love

I

Right now I write words to an imaginary someone about holiness and love. Many years ago, when I was young, I worried about words. Words I wrote. Words I said. Words I thought. Words you said. Words you thought. Too few words, and I was lonely. Too many words, and I was lost. Now, in the postmortem of my youth, in the shadowy dark of the shady side of the mountain, in the nowness of ripened silence and sweet stillness, the words disappear, or perhaps they rearrange themselves into tenderness, or curiosity, or bewilderment, or a knowing gnawing at the heart, or a kaleidoscopic clarity. Do not give any of this a word. All right, give it a word. Call it holy. Holy as in a fly trapped in an illuminated spider web under the quarter moon. Holy as we are all in this remembering together. Holy as when it rains, each of us gets wet. Then there is the issue of the Word of God. Not really a word at all. And by really I mean reality. And by reality I mean wordless. And by wordless I mean a breath, a vibration on the other side of suffering. I mean human hearts suckling on human hearts. I mean the universe giving birth to herself through us. I mean love.

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II

This moment, I am imagining myself as love. Each beat of my heart, my every breath, nothing but love. Being love this moment, I say this to the trees, and the ocean, and the earth beneath my feet: forgive me. When I fully realize I am love, imagining this moment, how extraordinary I imagine this moment to be. In love, I place limitless love at the feet of my beloved, knowing now every being I meet is my beloved. No matter how many times I say, I love you, there is always more love, so I say, I love you.

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III

The divine mystery births through our human form. When we deny the mystery, we feel separate and suffer. Embracing the mystery, we remember we are love.

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