“…Nothing you confess
Could make me love you less…”

If there is one thing for which we all long, it is this: to be loved without qualification, to be accepted in our earthly failings, as much as our unearthly light, to be loved, in essence, the very way we cannot yet love ourselves. This then is how the quest for such a love becomes our teacher, and how we learn from our longing just what is missing from our own hearts.

I have loved often. I have loved deeply. I love now, in more ways than I can describe. But only recently have I loved without doubt, without desire as the voice of need, without loss as an eternal backdrop for hope. It comes to me now, this even love, like an old friend in an unrecognizable face, for I cannot remember this feeling of accepting that whatever lies before me, it is always love. 

Even when I am alone, I am in love. Even when I seem abandoned, I am in love. Even when I fail myself by believing that I have failed others, I am in love. And so what is left to fear? I am with the same company, breathe the same air, no matter what my path, how far I walk or how I am received when I arrive.

And so for the first time I see that I am loved as I love. I am whole no matter how fractionated my world appears. And what relief is this, to realize that I cannot be harmed because… 

The demons we fear
are only
of our own making
and when it seems difficult
to love
it is always
our own permission for joy
that we deny..

When I look at you, you are so beautiful, even, especially in your humanity. As I accept the deepest secrets of my own soul, there is less and less that is shameful in the acts of others. I know them, I know you, because I know myself. Namaste: the light within me honours the light within you. Salaam, Shalom: Peace between Man and God, between me and you. Tall and ancient words. 

“Oh.. why do you look so sad
Tears are in your eyes
Come on and come to me now
Don’t be ashamed to cry
Let me see you through
‘Cause I’ve seen the dark side too
When the night falls on you
You don’t know what to do
Nothing you confess
Could make me love you less…”

 Chrissy Hynde, of the Pretenders, with Tom Kelly and Billy Steinberg


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