I’m sitting at home, enjoying a very rare moment of nearly perfect peace and quiet, and thinking about love. It never ceases to amaze me how many forms love can take, how many meanings can come from four little letters. Love can ignite passion, desire, lust, and more. Love can make a person do, feel, say anything just to keep it. And losing love can tear you apart inside and make you feel utterly worthless.
Love itself is perfect. We as humans are not. How we as imperfect people have been blessed with something as wonderful as perfect love is still a mystery to me. And what we do with love, or in the name of love, can sometimes be very surprising.
There are many different ways to feel love, multiple ways even with the same person. Sometimes it’s an evolution; sometimes merely a change with no seeming continuity of one to the other. Just when we think we know everything about love–or at least everything about loving a particular person–something always seems to happen to challenge that supposed knowledge. And just when we think we have experienced all of the wonderful variations of love, along comes love in yet another form, another beautiful perception.
Love will always be a glorious mystery to me, one which I think all of us really just scratch the surface of without really exploring its true depths. I sometimes think that if we could fully comprehend the true nature of love in all its many facets, we would never care to think of anything else ever again. We would be continually, perpetually awestruck by its presence. And even though we see and feel love through our imperfect human hearts and minds, its true presence is there, filling us in a way we can’t really understand much less explain. We just need to see it for what it is, feel it in every way, and never ever let it go.
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