I had a conversation with someone not too long ago about "love"--the feeling, the definition, the degree, the seeming lack of understanding surrounding the concept. This discussion has been ongoing, I'm sure, since the (purest coral/apricot) dawn of time. Like all meaningful conversations Reality has with itself, there is no clear resolution or conclusion...in words.
Such a powerful non-thing is Love, however, that we all continue to howl inwardly with agony or joy or both, being primal artists, poets and musicians deep inside over the seeming loss or gain of this elixir and all our garbled memories thereof. It is, indeed, the fountain of youth, the home we long for, the deepest bedrock we could ever chain ourselves to in a storm. It sometimes appears to me that my task, my storyline, has me following the glimmers and shadows of Love all the way down, from the shallowest desires and ego-strokes to the suffocating depths and ultimate deliverance of the universal sea...a worthy quest, in any tale. All such stories, though, must end.
Love is so engaging that we forget ourselves as the source of all the enchantment and pain. It is so close to us that we can't find it, usually, except in the form of a reaction. The original "action" is still a mystery, like God...did I just compare Love to God? Oh, I did, I did--like billions before me, who hit the end of the rope and found the voice, breath and patterned brain cut off; who somehow brought a wounded, unworthy self to the feet of some Presence and realized the complete and utter acceptance under-standing this...and then...
Yesterday, I was on the beach before the sun, walking, waiting for a certain light, camera at the ready. There was a blank space with nothing to do but sit and be. Luxury. That was the word that arose. Acceptance was the second word that arose, closely followed by love. They are all related, only in that they share the same root--me. In truth, there is no acceptance of love or by love, god, or whatever the word, since it is obviously all right here, always has been, always will be, no exceptions. Acceptance of any condition is so profound as to be __________. No gain, no loss, and boundless. Love and all its manifesting is mere icing, bittersweet and completely allowed, in any form, in any shadow of any form. There is no expressing this...and the fact that we keep trying is the only evidence of the degree of our actual intimacy.
I think of diving into the sea, because it is one of my favorite symbolic images. Diving into love would be like diving into my own bloodstream. Impossible, unnecessary, but beautiful in itself...like life. Did I just compare love to life...?