one love

We trick ourselves by telling ourselves there is more than this Love, but in Truth, there is only this.

We categorise it, classify it.

We analyse and dissect it.

Yet the categories and analyses, the dissertations and speeches we make about Love rarely seem to touch upon that which truly breaks our hearts.

How would it be if every day, Love shattered you?

How would it be if every day, Love mercilessly, but with the sublime gentleness of  a mother, broke your heart?

How would it be if every day you were rendered mute by the enormity of Love that surrounds and contains, nurtures and holds the space in which you find yourself in this moment right now?

How would that be?

It would be different, I imagine, to the way you are used to living.

It would be different, I imagine, to the way you are used to loving also.

It would be different to what we have come to expect of life, different to the expectations, that no matter how we might think we are bettering ourselves through, only serve to suck the very essence from this moment, dry up the spring and stop the tears in our eyes before they ever have the chance to spring forth and water the garden in which we are standing.

A mended heart is incapable of truly feeling; it needs to break over and again to let nourishment in.

Every time you fix yourself, you kill yourself.

God knows this, which is why she keeps breaking your heart.

You are so much more than this.

So much more than this life.

One day you will be gone, and what will this body, this mind, these thoughts and these achievements mean then?

Most of what you have accomplished will die when you die.

So why not die now?

Why not let yourself die in the arms of the Beloved?