Surely there is a window from heart to heart:
they are not separate and far from each other.
Two earthenware lamps are not joined,
but their light is mingled as it moves.
No lover seeks union without the beloved seeking;
but the love of lovers makes the body thin as a bowstring,
while the love of loved ones makes them comely and plump.
When the lightning of love for the beloved
has shot into this heart, know that there is love in that heart.
When love for God has been doubled in your heart,
there is no doubt that God has love for you.
the difference between people-shoppers and lovers of the earth is simple for even the tortuously complicated mind. people-shoppers are on the prowl for unmodified, platonic specimens, cells untouched by the poison and vagaries of this imperfect dirt of existence. they look to be transported into the high ideals of beauty, grace and lightness of spirit as evidence of the more noble refrains of which the human coil is capable. they find complexity, darkness, and turbulence unattractive and to be avoided for it mars the grecian marble arches of the refined world under which they wish to make dance. lovers of the earth, however, want to know abject manifestation for what it is and in its fullest possible expression. they see the darkness in every light and the light in every darkness. they can behold the beauty in a florette of a crushed and partially decomposed paper cup surfacing in the filth of old snow. they marvel at the sinew of neurotic inner wrestling and the quiet bell curve of its ultimate neutralizing. they can digest the poignancy of a reaching that never quite makes its mark. they can love the grain of age scarifications and trouble on the brow, occasion to take in freely and deeply both the sulphuric smell of street people and the pulchritude of a rose garden. they know them by their shifting contexts, as mere flecks of duality looking for the dutiful middle-holding that turns both faces to unspeakable jewels.
lovers of the earth do not look to the seed that has just cracked under the garish wetting of the seasons as it tentatively sends its pale, thin scouts thru darkest gravitysoil towards a sun it hardly knows, and complain that it resembles not the lush tomato plant that grew to advantage the year before. they do not pull up the shoots and stamp on the earth that birthed it, exasperating that its but a scrawny, malformed, barren imposer. the lovers of earth alight with the eyes of patience and kindness on any signs of struggle and marvel at the bother of biognosis in action, the lionlambforms who work to bridge the floating sun and the fertile peat of our collective deadweight sheddings.
the pupa is easily judged and rejected for not yet having emerged into its butterfly body by the very agents and elixirs that could hasten its transformation. such ironic unfairness is the strict but firm teacher of ages, for in nature the transformations are self-directed for those who bear the seeds of greatness. the babes are abandoned and left to drift down the river of chance. the birds early tossed from the nest either die or become the strongest fliers. but we humans have our extended period of vulnerability post-womb that haunts us and impels us into relatedness, and as it should be. otherwise differentiation of sex and species would be but an empty play serving no purpose. i spoke recently with a friend who marveled to me the greatness he felt able to achieve with the essential presence of his mate who loves him without reservation. "without my wife, more than half my accomplishments would never come to be. knowing she loves me i can bear the doubts and challenges of the world with an infinite supply of strength that i draw on her account. just knowing she's there for me, can step into my way of looking at things, sometimes commiserating, sometimes drawing me away from my subjective, it all makes me strong in a way i could never unlock when i was doing my own thing."
there are no clear categories to people. we are all assortments of ever-shifting prominences. sometimes we are people-shoppers, looking for the best deal, the features we idolize at the lowest price with some guarantee of road worthiness for our investment. and sometimes we are lovers of the earth where the heartland borders run beyond any knowable circumference to embrace and take in the post-dual cartography beyond black and white and good and evil.
yet, as i am learning, the secret of nature is that the emboldening and fortification of conjugation is available to the singleton as well. for while the lover without is a nice fact to sometimes get your hands on, the inner inamorata is always waiting for our reach to union. even the diner, sitting alone at table, can't be distinguished from the lovers necking in the corner. activities within the heart can't be seen by science eyes or judged for merit by the appraisals of practical fellows.
dream: 20 mar 2011: on a bench i sit and i have to keep my eyes closed. a boy comes and we kiss passionately and for a while but i know the agreement is that he will flee to mask his identity before i open my eyes, which is exactly what comes to pass.