Really love


“We are really love,” someone says and you think, yes, sure, really love, uh huh.

You understand in your head but sometimes it feels like your emotions missed the memo.

How can we BE love when anger strikes hot sulphur like a match?  How can we BE love when we’re tripping over our words, burning ourselves with hot coals of expression?  How can we BE love when she loves me, she loves me not, he loves me, he loves me not?

Yet some distant day, perhaps right now, it dawns that the emptiness we are beneath the whole shebang, the whole kitten caboodle of personality, is filled with love.

No, no, you say (I know the spiel well) that certainly isn’t true.  The emptiness does NOT feel like love.  It feels like, well, emptiness.  It feels like, well, nothingness.  It does not feel like your first kiss, your first heart-thumping love, your unexpected joy when the sun stains the horizon crimson, delight as you gondola in Venice.

It feels empty of emotion, so therefore, logically, emptiness =nothing, and there’s no more to say, let’s eat a cookie.

I suggest a deeper acquaintance with emptiness.  A longer howdy-do with the nothing that you are.  Long hours or days or minutes of witnessing what rises as not-love in your being.

Some fine moment which is always now you’ll be listening to bird song and know to your deepest oceanic depth that we’re love, yes, we’re true love, we’re all love, we’re One Love, inseparable.

Bird song is love.

Witnessing bird song is love.

Not two separate beings (bird and human witness) but one love seeing itself.

We’ll feel it so deeply that never again will we cease recognizing ourselves in the forest, delighted love chirps rising from the beaks of the arising.

“We are really love,” someone says and you think, yes, sure, really love, uh huh.  (This time you smile.)


10 thoughts on “Really love

  1. Nah, this time it brought tears to my eyes, but that’s a result of having let go of myself this morning while on my walk, and the letting go of what I think of as Me was a most amazing gift. Love. Yes.

    I love that you find ways to express these things. I struggle to find the words, and am grateful that you can find a way to put it together this way. 🙂

    • I’m getting clearer all the time that I didn’t write this, Robin. (The “I” likes to come back and claim it after the fact.) The truth is that love wrote this. It only likes to pretend it’s coming through a person named Kathy and that a person named Robin is reading it. Or is it we who pretend? Love knows and laughs that we think there’s any separation.

  2. P.S. Honoring that love loved you enough to allow you to drop the Robin-story this morning…Honoring every time we see clearly who and what we are, dropping the stories that keep us separate. Love…

    • ♥♥♥ (I keep trying to make these three love hearts and WordPress keeps saying: You’ve already said this! Duplicate comment! lol…can we say it too many times?)

  3. This is beautiful, Kathy. I understand the hotness of anger every now and then, but I also ‘get’ the gentleness of love. (Thankfully, the love outweighs the anger in spades.) Let’s sit cozy in love for a while, yes?

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