Let me say no more about love. I am too vain when it comes to the subject; in my gut, my instinct tells me that for some reason, I have a handle on it. I explain it in terms of paradox: it is all things and nothing at all, both at the same time. It is the way she smiles at me: this is love: everything about life is love; yet, there is no one place in her smile where I can point and say, here is love: love seems to be an imagined thing, altogether. So, that would be something of my understanding... and then, when I think of love like this, I have thing gnawing tinge that I'm missing something. That perhaps, I'm missing the whole thing, that the entirety of love is flashing before my eyes and all I'm seeing is pretty colors. Maybe I understand nothing of love. I wouldn't be the first.
Maybe the only true understanding of love comes when not thinking of love at all (yes, again with the paradox). I mean, one may only comprehend what its actual essence is in the act of doing it, and not thinking, "I am loving right now." That love is known when it is completely outside of one's mind, but is rather in the feet and hands, to go and do what it means for us to do. And we all know how to love, right? "Do unto others as you would have them do unto you." That's a good start. Then there's that last paradox about it: we all know what it is, yet no one can tell you what those four letters really mean. But don't listen to me; like I said, I'm probably missing what love is entirely. Just a kook running his mouth off. Thank you for suffering me. Let me say no more about love.
sunday