And of course, you’re saying things back to yourself. What’s here is here.
So you’re going to spread the word?
What is that word, exactly?
But whoever gave a thought to what love is?
Love is the wordless word.
Even more so than God.
God comes loaded with certainty and agreement.
Love comes fraught with confusion and disagreement and vagaries.
Let’s say you went on a speaking tour for love.
What would it be?
“You are all wrong.”
Love is not what you think it is.
Love is not Jesus, and love is not God.
It might be a holy ghost of action.
But maybe not that.
Because it could be a mist, a feeling around that action, wholly unrelated to the action itself.
Love is a long pencil that just got sharpened.
But it’s certainly not the words and pictures that come out of it.
Nothing to argue.
Nothing to take on tour.
Nothing from nothing leaves no thing.
Could love be the no-thing-ness of all things?
Perhaps it’s unrelated to things entirely.
So it’s a feeling some say.
And what’s a feeling?
Only the gunk that makes the world go round.
Only the imaginary oil in the machinery while the gears grind down.
Only the sense of calm and joy as death sneaks up.
And is the feeling of oil lubricating parts, of joy and lust,
and awe at witnessing a scene that opens and closes —
is that feeling of love only available to that which ends?
Only a man could think of that which ends in a world of infinity.
An eternal line chopped in two by the whim and script
of a man hell-bent on seeing meaning where love has none.
So, what would we take on tour?
Wake up by seeing what’s not?
Wake up by seeing that you may never know a real love?
Wake up by annihilating the very language that powers your mind?
Wake up by treating each moment as your last?
Discard a tour.
Discard a plan.
Discard the words.
Discard the dream.
And see what chips fall into your lap.
See what hint of love falls into your eyes.