(Incredible Force)

Talk of the love, say the words for there is magick in the telling. To talk of the love you share with them; of the magic, of the miracles, of the mystery.

Talk of the times you've loved, those cherished moments, those enchanted times. How you marveled, how you were amazed. Those times when all you could do was weep at the beauty. Perhaps moments the two of you have shared, moments with a loved one, near and far, old and new.

Even though, as uncomfortable as it may be, to talk of a time or two, when tied in knots you lashed out, punishing, hurting, and sabotaging yourself with regrets, of course...

But there is magick in the telling. And they will talk of love, of the love they have for you, the cherished moments with such delight.

Then something you realized, something you created... a closeness they felt, as they gave to you responded and respected; and they knew you. Courageously intimate and courageously committed, their loyalty, unwavering, unbending.

And the enchanted and cherished times they remembered; one of your "ah hah" moments. They laughed with your celebration, and cried with your tears, for they have tasted every tear, every time you cried.

And there is magick in the telling.

They may mention a time when they felt punished, pushed away. How sad it made them, though not angry, no desire to get you back. How they understood that it came from fear and pain; a fear of humiliation, so they understood. There is magick in the telling.

And together you sit, so quietly, keeping the meaning alive and the remembrance of the wonder fresh. Telling of the times of having been tied in knots, thinking the patterns would never change. But they do, and they did, as you grew and as you grow, stronger in a love, and its force; BEAUTIFUL force.

And yet so much more love you want to know; with them yes, but even more so. And in your world, sometimes afraid to yearn, to really want, but yearning and wanting any way.

And they open their touch and climb to their feet, extend a hand, gripping you, helping you to your feet.

We must journey, for there is a force of love, beyond beautiful, that surrounds a love that has no name, and for all eternity will remain nameless. And so they take you by the hand and lead you.

Now as you move to the edge of safety and then beyond, you'll cross a terrain maybe familiar if you've ventured beyond safety before, or maybe new and strange, a topography where the land rises and falls, where peaks are made and valleys formed. Across that terrain there may be treachery, there may be fear, there may be obstacles that seem impassable. The terrain will be marked by the magnets of resistance and denial. Perhaps a sheer cliff of stone we must climb with grip of finger tips, or that you must repel down the side, that may be our fear of losing the focus of our love.

Perhaps rivers, with rapids, angry and fierce, that threaten to swallow you up and wash you away, to bash you upon the rocks with its white water. Perhaps barren deserts where the winds blow a haunting howl, sneering. Perhaps the forest may get so thick you can barely pass, tangled by the gnarled branches that lash out.

Perhaps swamps, as you pass together, they will explain to you why you resist, as you journey, as you make your way, as you work. Is it the loss of the focus, what you've been taught, what you've taken and turned to belief, like the stone you descend or climb? Is it a law that looms like dark clouds on the horizon threatening?

Is it a mysterious tragedy, that seems to swirl hiding behind every tree waiting to jump out and threaten you, whoa! Or is it the grip of the past, like quick sand that threatens to suck you down and suffocate you or blind you, demanding that others pay a debt that is not their own?

Are you waiting for love to deliver the mother you never had or father you wished had been? Some pictures from the past that never really were nor could have been. Does the treachery come from saboteurs, your martyr, your nobility, or dishonesty? Or is it out right fear of receiving that tangles you that tears and rips, threatening to cut, to make you bleed?

Is it denial of imagination, of the creativity and realness of self that creates the mirages of oasis on the desert of your life?

Is it the scariness of monsters, the scariness of success, the blackmail threat of fear, or the shear terror as you walk the narrow cliff with gulch and abyss on either side, the tight rope, the balance beam of what happens if you fall? Or is it the denial of a very soul that makes the night so endless? All the treachery, the shear terror of love lost, dropped once too often, broken, shattered, cutting with its sharp jagged edge.

Make your way. Let them speak to you, in their way. The obstacles are all past, pulling you, attracting like magnets of resistance and denial. Together you help each other and come to a place that surely must be magical. It's too beautiful to be anything less. And over there, seated with their back toward you, a silhouette, one longing, one waiting, forever patient. This is a you, who loves you; the you who has self love thru and thru, though not perfectly. You may remember them, who extricated you from a swamp not long ago. But there they sit, silhouetted, waiting to be found. And as you approach, the break of a twig, or maybe its the scent, as you are upwind, they turn, this one who loves you. They look amazingly like you, only somehow there is a difference. They smile and come toward you, an open hand outstretched, so happy to see you, so glad you've come.

As they come close, they place their palms to your temples and close their blissful eyes. They move their head close to yours, resting their forehead upon yours. You feel the warmth, the soft silkiness of skin, the tickle of hair. You smell the fragrance of a body filled with love.

And they will give you their eyes. They will fill you, so that you might see, the love you already know and the love you already experience. And know that it is the force of that love that produced the growth and change, the transmuting energy beyond your fear and pain, the changes in your very nature that you wondered how it happened. All of a sudden knowing you are very well capable of love, of LOVE.

And not only the love, but a force, a beautiful force electric, alive. You look around and notice it, radiating like heat, aromatic iridescence.

And then you notice something you could not have seen before. It is a mirror. A mirror, full length, reflecting glass right there in plain view, but only the eyes of love can see. Step closer, stand before it, seeing you through the eyes of love.

"Somewhere in your eyes, I thought I saw the answer, and I have kept it with me. Even in the darkness it has stayed alive." And the mirror turns to liquid, held within its frame, but rippling like liquid.

You reach out a hand and put it through. Step forward up to your elbows, closer to the liquid reflecting glass knowing that beyond it there is a force, incredible force, of love. It has no name as the love that generates it will always be nameless.

Once you step thru just experience.