Love Is The Release

release
I watched the ocean waves crashing
beneath the reaching light of the moon;
Time was suspended upon the clouds.
There was a heavy and palpable silence
that only made the roaring of the waves
so much more powerful.

I was reminded of my insignificance,
as I stood there on the shore..
but at the same time,
  assured of my importance;
as important as each star above me.

The ocean was inside of me,
and I was inside of the ocean.
The water’s ebbs and flows
kissing the shoreline ~
The advancing,
the retreating,
were reminiscent of the sways of my heart,
as they oscillated between the clinging to this world,
and the letting go.
The desire for love
and the release..

Every crash of the waves,
as it ate away at the shoreline,
further reinforced:

You cannot love with your mind.
Love cannot coexist with thought.
It will retreat

You cannot love without the learning
how  to let go;
without being willing
to let go.

You cannot love while resisting the gift of love;
and you will not always know where that gift is
or what it is
or from where it comes.

Love is the release;
it is the open hand,
always ready to receive.

Love is the bird taking flight
allowing the wind
to guide its glide..

Love is the candle
burning its wick to give light,
knowing it is extinguishing itself.
But its essence lives on.. and returns.

Love is the being here
Now
the letting go of the past.
Even as the past revisits you.

Love is accepting the quiet moments
to soothe you,
and the harsh moments
to teach you.

 Love
is the release.

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Wanderers In A Field of Flowers

“Behind the blood-stained curtains of Love, 
there are fields of flowers where lovers wander.

To wander in the fields of flowers, pull the thorns from your heart.”
~ Rumi
Image

A girl once wandered along a field of flowers, feet bare
Carefree and unafraid of what she might encounter there

She knew the thorns she removed from her staunch heart
were the launching point, from the point of depart

With the promises that come with the freedom of wings
that portend magical Hope and other beautiful things.

She stopped in the midst of flowers abounding
held out her arms to soak in the sun’s rays astounding

Her head raised high, her eyes serenely closed
no more tranquil an image could have been posed.

Soon thereafter, a feather from the heavens fell
suddenly appearing, as if cast from a spell

It gently danced and glided, sought out her hand
as if searching for a warm place to land

A feather of the most vibrant hues
like the flowers; reds, yellows, greens and blues.

No sooner had the feather ended its flight
there followed a most ethereal sight .

It was the most exquisite bird,
and suddenly,
something within the girl’s staunch heart stirred.

On her outstretched hand, the bird gracefully landed,
peered into her soul, her attention it commanded.

Resplendent and fine, its feathers in all those dazzling hues
like the flowers; reds, yellows, greens and blues.

She could not help but caress those fine feathers,
as she stood amidst the irises and the heathers.

The bird sang a melody so sanguine and so sweet
only briefly it lingered in sorrow,
a song reminiscent of times long past,
and a subtle promise of tomorrow.

As the bird then moved to the palm of her hand
its beauty, a stunning mesmerization;
the awareness that it may soon fly away
was a sudden and terrifying realization.

She held it with care, grateful for each moment
treasuring each offering like a gift from a lover
Is your heart here to stay, she wanted to ask,
or does it belong to another?

You are not from this place, she thought to herself
You belong in paradise, your heavenly abode
Are you visiting, dear wanderer? Or lost, searching for home?
Still pursuing a path along your designated road?

How easy it would be to close that hand
hold the exquisite bird there forever..
It would sing to her every day,
A bond that would not sever.

But love is not of a forced possession
In her being, this she knew.
That vibrant light would surely dim
There would be no more vibrant hue

And so she wandered on in the field of flowers,
towards the blazing horizon of the dusking sky.
The majestic bird perched upon her open hand
as it sang the songs of days gone by.

Fear remains, along with many thoughts awoken
they set behind the fiery orange-crimson sun,
they hide behind fragile promises spoken,
and gold-gilded intentions begun.

Twilight descends, infused with the disquiet dark brings
accentuated by the stillness of night..
‘but the morning brings strength to her restless wings*’
and Hope, emerges with the Light.

 

*Jackson Browne