Love until you’ve gone mad, and then once you get there – keep going. That’s where the lush stuff likes to hide.
Most people are taught to love with the transient and luminescent fragility of a candle’s flame. Leaving always a wondering of a greater capacity, a nagging “what if” whispering in your ear.
For a very long time I loved instead with the rebellious and destructive fierceness of a forest fire. All encompassing, passionate, erratic. Annihilative eros clearing all in its path. I burnt hot, I burnt out.
So then what else is there?
Rising from the ashes of that inferno, i embrace a rooted journey into the practice and scholarship of love. Roaming the crevasses and expense of the heart, to which I have yet to see any clear boundary or edge. Just an ever broadening horizon.
Instead of wild fire I choose to love like a cosmic catastrophe, as if every moment were a big bang. A constant and collective transformation.
Universe after universe dreamt through chaos, and crafted with order. With devotion and deep adoration in every beat in every sigh. I see now that authentic love is creation incarnate. I see that every moment, orgasm, heartbreak and wild abandon has been damn worth the continued fruits of the pilgrimage.
I cannot help but stand in awe at what strange and magnificent creatures we lovers tend to be.