Love, But Not Without Work. . . .

It was with derision that laughter came because I said love was the answer.  Naïve I was called and impractical.  I was told I did not know how the real world works.

But not without work I added.  Love needed work.  Wherever we were,  the boots had to be put on or the thinking cap.  That is where we begin.

By magic meals appeared on time, clean towels flew to shelves and clothes to closets hung all by hocus pocus.  The real work was the hand on the sick brow, emotions calmed, anger abated  and crises averted with lives prolonged by hearts transplanted.  Fears were laid to rest.

So now I work and find some words to describe my feeling.  Yet I even wonder now if these words are mine, except I do know that they are of me, my fabric and what it is I have lived through.

A romantic?  I am and just maybe I put into words what others think and cannot articulate.  Claiming my romance. . . I learned it somewhere.  I knew it at a time. . . but what time and where, this life does not tell me.  When we claim knowledge of a something and this life has not taught the principle, then we must claim it from somewhere.  Else how do we know?

To know means the lesson was taught at some juncture, long ago or perhaps with such vitality  we could not forget.  It has become part of our fabric and knowledge and therefore we claim it.  It is not to be uprooted by an ill wind blowing from wherever, because the knowledge is innate.

I write what I know.  At the moment I may not be cognizant of the fullness of the words, but they are brought up from that place where memories lay hidden and the greater self speaks.  And if the fences have been dismantled and the stones knocked down, it is with grace that the knowledge once again surfaces.

Love Is. . .

oh trembling soul,
that has seen beyond
to know the wonder of love.
Whose magnificent hand has shaped
the universe and all within with love?

What visions have the eyes seen unfolded
to cause the soul and mind a oneness,
heretofore, unknown?
Who loosed the shackles of
the mind encaged and sent man’s
Spirit soaring?

Love that has impregnated and nurtured
and caused man to grow upward

Is. . . .

 

artwork by Claudia Hallissey