"No one has ever reached the Heights of Glory by being told that he or she is rotten."
(Dr. Nathaniel Branden, Lecture at the Learning Annex, Toronto)
I am blessed to have been given a deeply beautiful and unconditional love for someone. ~We~, in fact, were given this from above in a beginning, raw kind of form. It was like being given a perfect gift, newly-born as would be a baby. And like a baby, it must be nurtured, loved, and allowed to grow with as few hindrances as those involved can make possible: it must be protected with great fury.
One thing that must be remembered at all times is simply this: it is a Gift. A gift that many in this world have either lost, or never knew at all.
As it grows and flourishes, all kinds of beautiful things happen nearly at once; things one never could conceive nor often even consider possible.
In the world of humans, there is simply nothing else that even compares.
But, and anyone with experience knows this: Sometimes we forget the nature of the gift. It becomes, in the face of all other things flowing in and out of life, not maybe neglected, but more taken for granted. If there is such a thing as Sin, it is my belief that this is truly one of the great ones.
If you love someone (and here I am talking about adult romantic love relationships), it is for sure the little things that give daily meaning. Things easy to do. A touch, a smile, a love letter. To make it known that they, and no other, are the epicenter of your life. That you are joined in a deep state of gratitude, admiration, of powerful love, with them, as they are with you. It does not have to be done in a somber, serious way; no, it can be light, and joyous--as joyous as the love is itself.
Mistakes are made. Fears and self-doubt are had. Mistakes are made as it is grown, and savored.
It can become extreme. It can become as extremely opposite what both believe in, feel of each other deep within. And right there is where the real unconditional nature of love will save a thing, if you allow it to. Sometimes, concessions must be made. Even concessions that one feels to be not at all to the problem-at-hand. You listen to your heart, as they say. You unblock and let the love flow through again.
And you, Gentle Reader, might even find yourself in the position of your melancholy, but Devoted Author. It is often this, though: Not a sadness or concern for Self. Not so much that. More, and much more, the visceral, screaming kind of pain that is beyond empathy for the one you still love.
And that means you truly love them.
Sometimes, you can be in a tough lurch--a place where with all your soul you wish to reach in. Reach in to them. But something on the outside is preventing you to do so. It is a helplessness.
Here, and only here, is where you might send out the quiet signal: "I can not reach in to you, but you can still reach out to me. And I will be there with bells on, for you, and only you."
Then you wait for that tiny little message in a bottle, and pray for it to hit the shore and be read.
rde
Dedicated to someone I sometimes call "Lambchop."
