Does one learn how to love?
Is it that one Knows how to love?
Or Is it that one Feels how to love?
Perhaps one sees how to love. Or hears or smells …
Or just perhaps one is Love.
When one is born, there is the presence of the doctor, the medicine man or the shaman or a witch. Who looks after the pregnancy, watches over. The birth of a new born.
Similarly when one dies, There is the undertaker or the crypt keeper or the cremation worker to look over. The death of an old soul.
One is always looked over, watched closely. But by whom? Or by what? Some humans in tongue call it god or allah, nature or mother. Aliens or demons, the devil or apostles. The snakes and the foxes. The conscience and the consciousness.
One is looked upon, watched over by love I would speak in silence. When one is growing, love grows within and without her in all directions. Extending forward and backward. Without a tongue or eye. Love cannot speak nor see. She is mute and unbiased. She has not the power for a single effort.
The great thing about this whole get up if you were to believe me is, there is nothing which can work without love. But love cannot make anything work either.
A divine dichotomy. Indeed.
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