loving love

How to say the simplest thing is merely to say it: Love is loves reward.

I used to ask; “why me?” Echoing back a faint sound answers ‘why not.’

Want not.

What more could I ever ask for?

I awoke with Ginger’s head asleep upon my right hand, covers kicked back, windows open at 02:00 or thereabouts. The visions of versions of love mine alone since they were as innocent as Ginger’s love. Ginger is a, approximately forty pound dog of uncertain origin. One of the few elect from a pack of several, perhaps, I sense many extending back across Pam’s life protected and loves as I am and she beside me having at that last gasp between awake and sleep I asked that she never leave me . . . then blessed sleep within which this dream, these visions, and finally, first and last, I knew myself loved and safe.

It is true of me, I am incapable of reading aloud 1 Corinthians 13 without my voice breaking tear streaming and the feeling I’d fall to my knees or face down . . . instead I write and still cry attempting to say what love is actually.

Maybe now, marginally, nominally, better able to describe what it, love, is.

Love is everywhere, Love is everything, Love is ALL.

Love is what we all seek having a genius for it within.

Obvious.

Only now.

Love has no fear of anything.

My customary methodology has malfunctioned. At least insofar as my desired expectations. Instead it leads me farther, deeper into the swiftly moving river of concern and care for all of us expressed by others . . . always careful of what I ingest except, of course, for cigarettes and coffee . . . my physical ecology being a shambles.

As with M, so with P, both are difficult for me to define definitively. Either for or about. Yet there is about ‘us’ collectively: a sense we have shared separately savage grief and suffering. Then, touched by grace, been healed.

Oddly, flashing as explosive, a dawn unexpected, I saw the sense it might have been mom’s intention to make of me the father she’d never had. There is, at the moment, a similar component to my love for Pam or M equally for them as my children, my parents, my lovers; multidimensional—other—in all respects. Yet equal and innocent in that love lives between us. Above all gender difference.

There seems, at least to me, for now, a host of potential beyond all understanding within each and all of us. A vastness knowable as extant but unmeasurable and frustrating for me to attempt the expression of or description. Yet the attempt impossible as it may be worth everything I can give to it . . . a process seamless as a whole fabric being woven and we all within it related. There is no “Law” of love save in my sense, so far, for now, that we must be ourselves: unique as created and/or evolved . . . always pushing the envelope of our aware understanding, experience, expectations. Education never ceases.

130529 23:26

At the end of one thing another is announced. It seems I’ve lost track of the energy contained above. Had I awoken just now at the airport I’d just go back wondering had the whole thing been just a dream? But at that I wonder what happened in those secrets whispered the terror of two children facing the unknown/unknowable together siblings . . . and then thought how could I say goodby to myself?

Looking at now, looking forward, I don’t want to look or go back to what was then waiting to die. New England in Spring is riotously fecund. Especially here in St. Johnsbury, VT: the mists, rivers, rain, cold become lucid then ideal. Today I realized God is much this place as all places, in me and all of us equally, only not recognized. Actual, not ideal or idol.

And I will stay sacrificing all except Annie that which was me back there. For here I am better something else more. Love no longer a stranger to me.

To close. There is that which we can change and that which we cannot. To know the difference is to be more human than inhumane; more for life, as experienced and lived by all, versus all life beaten into unreality. Love creates while the opposite, indifference, breeds death.

130529 EDT 0212 loving love

© 2013 by Jack Spratt—All Rights Reserved