Namaste,
Divine beloved.
I'm Carol,
And this is the thought that came to me from Spirit at first light.
From the prophet,
Chapter 2,
On love by Khalil Gibran.
When love beckons to you,
Follow it,
Though its ways are hard and steep.
And when its wings enfold you,
Yield to it,
Though the sword hidden among its pinions may wound you.
And when it speaks to you,
Believe in it,
Though its voice may shatter your dreams as the north wind lays waste to the garden.
For even as love crowns you,
So shall it crucify you.
Even as it is for your growth,
So is it for your pruning.
Even as it ascends to your height and caresses your tenderest branches that wiver in the sun,
So shall it descend to your roots and shake them in their clinging to the earth.
Like sheaves of corn,
It gathers you unto itself.
It threshes you to make you naked.
It sifts you to free you from your husks.
It grinds you to whiteness.
It kneads you until you are pliant.
And then it assigns you to its 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 your 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 naught,
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 that 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 even tide with gratitude.
And then to sleep with a prayer for the beloved in your heart,
And a song of praise upon your lips.
.
.
