In The Presence of My Love

Cumulous Clouds

It is my sense that love becomes a part of us, one that we can step off from, one that can give us courage and faith to go forward into new unknown places, places that may be dark and dreary, boring and tedious, places of fear and terror, places where we may have a hard time remembering our lives, remembering how love was our home, and yet it is exactly this, this love that lets us take off, and it is the love we will come back to whether we know it or not.

I know this now, in the presence of my love, the presence of this self that I exist within, that I believe in, as I believe in the rain I hear on the roof, the smell of grains cooking, the flowers wilting in the pot my brother made. All this will go, will break, will end, and will die. I will die. And what will be left but this loveā€”it is all that can remain, everything else we must say goodbye to again and again. And even the love I cannot hold onto, for although it exists within me it is not mine, it is what is, it is the energy in everything, it is what brings form to the absence and space to the form, it is what we long for and live inside of, all of this has been said before and better over and over.

This post is an excerpt from a book I’m working on. This entry was written in late August, 2005.

This post is part of the series The Late Summer Garden of Listening and includes the post Tiny Little Pixie Girls and Days I Can Trust.

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