Many are the books that speak of love.
Must love be complex?
Old timers say love is like a beautiful field
of sweet berries--surrounded with thorns.
Must love be difficult?
Preachers and philosophers say love is an
ancient, bearded male living somewhere in
an unreachable distance, or that it is infinite
being without origin, without end.
Must love be remote?
Yet when I see you, touch you, feel your
truth playing silently with mine, I know that
love is something simple, something easy,
close and obvious--like a flower unfolding to
the dawn.
The garden is always near. It is we who are
constantly moving away.
The golden flower is calling. Be quiet now and
listen. She knows us all by name.