Musing from a man in the throes of an awakening of sorts.

I water the tomato plant, and there you are.  I smell the basil, and imagine the subtle essence of your scent.  I look at the sunrise and wonder if you are awake, looking at the same sun in same the sky at the same time.

I have never loved a woman until lately.  Truly loving a woman is not what I thought.  It is not what I have been taught.  It couldn’t be.  It must be self-taught.  It must descend from the heavens like a gift from the goddess.  When the student is ready, the teacher will appear.

Real love is not what passes for romantic love.  Romantic love is young love and it is possessive.  It loves the idea of love.  It enjoys the picture and wants to be viewed.

Real love only wants what is best for the object of its affection.   Can I be in service to the goddess, rather than a demand of the goddess?  Can I be a force of love, a conduit for love,  rather than a response or a reaction to love?  Can I love unconditionally, without any understanding, and without any expectation of receiving love in return?   Can I live in insecurity and uncertainty?  No guarantees?   If I can answer Yes, then I am approaching authentic love.  This is real love.  That is not the love of red roses.  This that I speak is not red.  It is so white hot, colors don’t matter.  The flame never extinguishes.  This love, the real stuff, is patient, and compassionate, and selfless, and prone to err on the side of ebullient adoration, and overwhelming feelings, and uncontainable bliss.   It is self-sustaining and available for everyone in my path.  The bright comes to life.  It is a light that must shine.  Heaven is gonna burn your eyes!

“I would rather have had one breath of her hair, one kiss from her mouth, one touch of her hand, than eternity without it. One.” 

                                                Seth from the movie City of Angels

Real love is tempered with defeat, and heart ache, and ruptures.  Real love is forged steel.  Only someone who has loved and loss knows of what I speak.  Love is who I am.  It has taken a lifetime to unearth it.  Love was there all the time.  I had been looking everyplace except where it lives, deep inside of me.  It is not mine to give away.  It is a gift that flows through me.  I am only an ancient vessel.  Love is there for me to stay out of its way.  Can I do that?  Can I keep my petty boy wants out of it?  Can I relax into it?  Can I be a shining beacon of the ultimate possibility of love?  Not jealous.  Not possessive.  Not angry.  But rather can I be completely surrendered to the desires and wants of my beloved?  Can I be exuberantly broken wide open, and content, and aware of the magnificence of this willingness to love unconditionally, completely vulnerable, and exposed to both the highs and the lows of human emotion, heartbreak and ecstasy.  Real love is a worn smooth ocean stone, beautifully aged wave after wave.

To survive this love, this biggest of loves, I must focus inward.  My true love lies within, and only from there can it emanate out to my beloveds.   Anything else is just an illusion, not the real thing, but rather a shiny imitation that will not last the test of time.

A thought of her sends a cellular reaction throughout my body.  Like a gentle buzz, I can feel a light and fast vibration from my head to my toes.  I think of making love, and can only imagine her pleasure.  That will bring me my pleasure.  I see a future entwining, and can feel her hand in mine.  It is soft and warm and wise and infinitely capable of singular joy and divine expression.  Happiness descends on me at will, at any moment, all day, every day.

I water the tomato plant, and there you are.  I smell the basil, and imagine the subtle essence of your scent.  I look at the sunrise and wonder if you are awake, looking at the same sun in same the sky at the same time.

Am I talking about a physical woman, or the big She?  Is there any difference?  I have come to know them as one in the same.

She is she. And she is She.

Can I awaken both?  Am I grateful enough to have both?  Am I awake enough to deliver the adoration she and She deserve.  Have I earned her devotion with this master work of discipline that I call my life.   Time will tell.

“Love does not fail for you when you are rejected, betrayed or apparently not Loved.  Love fails for you when you reject, betray and do not love.  Therefore .. Love.”    Adi Da Samraj