Thinking of Love

When I look down, I think.  And when I think, I think of love.  Love is, this is true, and there is no question it has place despite this fast paced world we live in.  It can ease pain and open hearts and as a subject of discourse can have boundless meanderings.  But not all think so.  To some love is a feeling to feign for the prize of writhing bodies which seems to be an end to which some are satisfied.  For others it is a game with steps and levels and progression that matches with emotions we long to receive.  And to some it is nothing, rather willing to settle on it's opposite, hate, creating discord in discourse becomes an activity in and of itself.  But too me love is a gift given, meant to inspire one to care.  It is a state of being, a way of life.  It doesn't discriminate rather it bubbles up at the strangest of times bringing joy to the eyes of all involved  It is as if we are tossed about in some warm, viscous ambiotic fluid surrounded by  memory of a time before breath.  There we were completely safe and protected and unwounded by the onslaught of fear and distrust the world does proffer.  There we are living and loving without sense of control, rather inebriated by the sense that we are embraced in its goodness.  In it we may be a child lost in dream uninterrupted.  A mother watching with pride her child's first steps.  A one with another that cares and remembers intuited by intrigue to the point of the lascivious.  It is like flower birth, or butterfly wings, or Christmas snow.  It brings joy to a place where words are forgotten and only pure feeling is remembered as true.  It is, in a word, perfection.  I love from habit, but more I know.  Love is that lasting thing that defies all negative intent.  When you have been stripped of all hope, protection, and faith, when you are nothing but raw seeping wounds without a salve to solve,  when through disruption and discord all words are lost, what is left...it is love.  So next time out, instead of joy for a fee, or lies just to lie, instead of swinging high with blows destructive and crass, swing low with love and that sweet chariot, as it come for to carry you home.