When love beckons, follow. Though its ways are hard and steep.
And when its wings unfold, yield.
Though the swords concealed in its pinions may wound you.
Believe in its speech though its words may shatter your dreams like the northern wind lays waste to the gardens.

As love crowns you, so shall it crucify you.
As it is for your growth, so is it for your pruning.
As it ascends to caress your most tender branches in the sun, so shall it descend to your roots and shake your foundation in the earth.

It gathers you, threshes you, sifts you, grinds you then bakes you to sacred bread for its sacred feast.
It gives none but itself and takes naught but from itself. It possesses not, nor can it be possessed.
Love has no desire but to fulfill itself. If you must desire…
Then you must melt into a river that flows with a melody,
to know the pain of too much tenderness, to be wounded by your understanding of it, to bleed willingly and joyfully, to wake with a winged heart, to rest at noon meditating on its ecstasy, to return at dusk with gratitude, then sleep with a prayer in your heart and a song of praise for your beloved on your lips.

Indeed, I have loved…

© jemedari