Madly Out Of Love

Madly out of love:

at some point, perhaps too early to remember when, we fell madly out of love with ourselves -and life has had a degree of struggle ever since, even at our most successful we maintain a sense of separation from this truest love, never quiet intimate again with who we really are. 

yet we catch glimpses, sometimes often, nature surprises us with a gift of beauty so pure that overwhelms the senses, and for just that moment we forget ourselves, returning to the innocence of first love, when the world was simply ours to belong to. Or maybe it returns through our love for another, that through their eyes we catch a sight of our own beauty, and even if we doubt it's lasting presence, it was there, if only for a fleeting instant. 

maybe this is my own story, projected on to others, but it certainly seems we've lost a larger sense innocence, that our love for ourselves is superficial to the extreme of sacrificing our lives in pursuit of objects that hold little lasting value. We're buying our own affection with shallow gestures, and all the while ignoring our depth of need for true love, the real love of simply being alive, accepted for exactly who we are. 

original love. 

this is a love we were born into, intimate at first breath, and never once doubting the worth of our existence. We came from love, the entire universe conspired for our presence, a miracle of biological extremes just to be here. There was absolutely nothing for us to prove, no need to earn this love, our birthright for simply being alive, present to the world. 

and yet somehow, at some certain point, or maybe over the length of childhood, we fell madly out of love with ourselves. And here we are, fighting our own existence, at war with the very environment that sustains us. If we knew this love again, remembered long enough for embers to stir a flame, our lives would change in an instant. Or more truly so, nothing would really change at all - and that's because this love is still and always present, it's our reality and has only been forgotten, regulated to the far corners of the mind, catching us by surprise with rare moments of appearance. 

but always present.

how do we remember though? 

honestly, I don't know, it's a bit of a mystery to me. But it happens, it did so for me, in subtle ways at first, and then with a larger gesture of falling madly in love with myself in a single instant, my existence immediately noted and accepted, seeing that my faults were real, yet also imagined, and everything belonged in such a perfect sense, my every doubt was now forgiven. 

let's call this grace. 

and it's a grace that always whispers love, providing hints of presence, a synchronicity of events that lead us in reveal of our own truth and beauty. Our only urge is to follow life, to allow ourselves those broken moments doubt and darkness, asking the world for answers and then listening to the holy silence if its reply. Love is silent, without demand, a constant hold of all we are and believe ourselves to be - it requires no effort, no practice to cultivate its presence. 

we exist,

and with this...

we're in love, madly and always.

it's what we truly are.

~

Peace, Eric