Speak to us of Love

In honor of Valentine's Day:

Then said Almitra, Speak to us of Love.

And he raised his head and looked upon
the people, and there fell a stillness upon
them. And with a great voice he said:
When love beckons to you, follow him,
Though his ways are hard and steep.
And when his wings enfold you yield to him,
Though the sword hidden among his pinions
may wound you.

And when he speaks to you believe in him,
Though his voice may shatter your dreams
as the north wind lays waste the garden.
 For even as love crowns you so shall he
crucify you. Even as he is for your growth
so is he for your pruning.

Even as he ascends to your height and
caresses your tenderest branches that quiver in the sun,
so shall he descend to your roots and
shake them in their clinging to the earth.
Like sheaves of corn he gathers you unto himself.
He threshes you to make you naked.
He sifts you to free you from your husks.
He grinds you to whiteness.
He kneads you until you are pliant;
and then he assigns you to his sacred fire,
that you may become sacred bread for God's sacred feast.
 All these things shall love do unto you
that you may know the secrets of the heart,
and in that knowledge become a fragment of Life's heart.
But if in your fear you would seek only love's peace
and love's pleasure, then it is better for you
that you cover your nakedness and pass out of love's
threshing-floor, into the seasonless world where you
shall laugh, but not all of your laughter, and weep,
but not all of your tears.

Love gives naught but itself
and takes naught but from itself.
Love possesses nor would it be possessed;
For love is sufficient unto love.

When you love you should not say "God is in my heart"
but rather, "I am in the heart of God."
And think not you can direct the course of love,
for love, if it finds you worthy, directs your course.
Love has no other desire but to fulfill itself.
But if you love and must needs have desires,
let these be your desires:

To melt and be like a running brook
that sings its melody to the night.
To know the pain of too much tenderness.
To be wounded by your own understanding
of love; and to bleed willingly and joyfully.

To wake at dawn with a winged heart
and give thanks for another day of loving.
To rest at the noon hour and meditate love's ecstasy.
To return home at eventide with gratitude.
And then to sleep with a prayer for the beloved
in your heart and a song of praise upon your lips.

From "The Prophet" by Kahlil Gibran

"Love Is You"
(instrumental)
Carlos Santana

A Love Symphony

I read a poem by Arthur William Edgar O'Shaughnessy on another blog which prompted me to search out other of his poems. This one struck me this morning as being particularly nice. Hope you enjoy it.

A Love Symphony
 
Along the garden ways just now
I heard the flowers speak;
The white rose told me of your brow,
The red rose of your cheek;
The lily of your bended head,
The bindweed of your hair:
Each looked its loveliest and said
You were more fair.

I went into the wood anon,
And heard the wild birds sing
How sweet you were; they warbled on,
Piped, trilled the self-same thing.
Thrush, blackbird, linnet, without pause,
The burden did repeat,
And still began again because
You were more sweet.

And then I went down to the sea,
And heard it murmuring too,
Part of an ancient mystery,
All made of me and you.
How many a thousand years ago
I loved, and you were sweet—
Longer I could not stay, and so
I fled back to your feet.


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Secret Garden
Bruce Springsteen