How much I am learning, and have yet to learn about, love.
How much becomes possible when I see the joy and difficulty of my love and longing for others as well as my halting, sometimes conflicted love of myself, as an expression of a much bigger love – life’s love for itself.
And how life-giving to remember that very love’s presence in the warmth of the sun, in the grey sky, in the call of a bird, in the clamour of the street, in the soft star-shine, in the cutlery on the table and the singing kettle and the pile of dishes, in the slide of pen on page, and in embraces, and in silence, and in separation and rage and illness and disappointment and despair and grieving.
When I know love this way I am no longer afraid of isolation because I see even that as a way I am always part of everything, and everything, always, a part of me.
Photo Credit: takuya miyamoto* via Compfight cc
