With a huge wound to the heart,
there is only one way to contemplate recovering…
being loved and having the experience of love enduring.
Love is a perfect lure back out into the open
where you can then feel the sun again,
shed your heavy armor
and lay down in the grass for a nap.
So, spend life searching and chasing love down,
in every alley way,
no time left for dreaming or creating,
simply the eternal search.
This is what I thought was true.
But once the undeniable truth about love was revealed,
I understood in the pit of my stomach
that noone can ever do enough loving
to heal this wound.
Noone can prove I am lovable,
Noone can be trustworthy
to never,
under any circumstances,
betray me,
or disappoint me,
or forget my birthday.
And there is an even greater truth,
a perpetual violence we perpetrate…
to withhold love from being expressed
to others and to oneself.
This contraction of the heart…
this is the colossal wound,
For the contraction,
even as an illusion of protection…
sentences oneself
to early retirement from
the human race
and to joining the ranks
of the walking dead.
The most profound truth about love
is that the healing
is not in being loved at all,
but in the loving.
Holding that dynamic expression of God
in my entire body and soul
and sharing it…
no strings…
no expectations…
just the sheer joy in savoring
the expression itself…
grateful for every microsecond
my love is
accepted,
seen,
and relished…
or not.
