Love

      There it is again, that same song that plays over and over again every time I give a massage. It goes something like this, “I want to know what love is, I want you to show me. I want to feel what love is, I know you can show me.”  I’m massaging someone here on the table as this song plays relentlessly once more.

        So I tolerate it what else can I do?

     It’s not love not at all, not the massage, not even the song. All these things are expressions of love, but not really love in itself.  Watching children excitedly tear into their presents on Christmas morning and seeing their beaming faces as they gasp at their gifts isn’t love at all, but rather an expression of love.

   It’s how someone shares love, an idea of love but love itself is an energy of its own that has no permanent belonging in this world, it is hidden and yet revealed at certain moments throughout your life time in its purest form. This form actually has no form; it has no belonging to anything materialistic because it exists on higher planes of reality that cannot manifest as being physical.

    It is the fuel from which we derive, the divine milk that nurtures us and saturates us in our sleep when we dream of a deceased loved one, yes a loved one, and we did love didn’t we? How we do long to feel it again, to grasp and savor just one more moment before it is taken away, and that my friend is love. It is a glimpse, a desire, a longing.

       
     A very deep cut that pierces our heart, it can bring immense joy and enable us to give relentlessly and share and even suffer.

    No those things are not really love, for it is so much more than that, all those things are our reactions, our impulses and yet love in itself is what we are made of, its why we are here, it is the very essence of our being and so we hide from our true selves, we do not reveal our true nature, we remain hidden from this world only to reveal our expressions our ideas, our stories and our suffering.

Love, Patricia Huff author, copyright 2016