Fallen silent
you think
I have risen and
I have let go.
Do you then remember
these things of Love and all else
besides
of which we have spoken,
of which knowledge and Being
with you
we have remembered?
Into it without
thinking or otherwise we
surrendered. So I surrender my
burden.
The splintered jewel, the spiraled
anger,
it is all gone.
So into silence gone,
heavy meditations balancing us
from all angles
I subside in you.
Love. If I could shout it's name from the tallest, snow covered mountaintop, it would not echo loud enough to reach the extent of where its fabric covers: Pluto, constellations, beyond the Milky Way. Yet its silence penetrates the universe's deepest, darkest trenches--those inside my being. Its essence, a connective tissue for all life--past, present, and future. Without it, there is no sadness, no joy, no pain. Without love, there is no life. There is nothing. No thing exists outside its reach and yet it resides in all of existence. Its blanket stretches between and wraps around all that has ever and will ever be in a suffocating hug that quickens us with its very breath. Love needs no answers because it has no questions. It demands no titles or labels, and it makes no judgments to right or wrong. Love is the fabric of the universe from which all else stems. Move over Higgs Boson; your unified field is love. God is love.
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