There is no "out of love." It's what we are, deeper and richer than all the spiritual promises and far more ordinary and real. We don't "fall in or out of love" because we are permanently in the flow of love itself. Love is the way we are meant to live; love is the measure of the meaning of life ... When we touch life with love, it grows warm and shines down the corridors of the mind with a light that does not fade but grows brighter and more beautiful with the years.
When love is present nothing is the same. Even the drab gray walls of this prison begin to glow. It's as if we are transported into a different world, love's world. Then things are seen through love's eyes. Then the pain may turn into a poem, and the sorrow may blossom as a ministry.
Love is what shines from our eyes, beats from our heart, speaks with our voice, and meets itself everywhere. Sooner or later, love will reclaim us all. But to let that happen now, to die into love now, before the body dies ... Ah!
If you find yourself half naked
and barefoot in the frosty grass, hearing,
again, the earth's great, sonorous moan that says
you are the air of the now and gone, that says
all you love will turn to dust,
and will meet you there, do not
raise your fist. Do not raise
your small voice against it. And do not
take cover. Instead, curl your toes
into the grass, watch the cloud
ascending from your lips. Walk
through the garden's dormant splendor.
Say only, thank you.
Thank you.
and barefoot in the frosty grass, hearing,
again, the earth's great, sonorous moan that says
you are the air of the now and gone, that says
all you love will turn to dust,
and will meet you there, do not
raise your fist. Do not raise
your small voice against it. And do not
take cover. Instead, curl your toes
into the grass, watch the cloud
ascending from your lips. Walk
through the garden's dormant splendor.
Say only, thank you.
Thank you.