To this world you belong. To this moment, in this place where you already stand, something greater has ushered you. To the momentum of a long line of survivors you are bound. From their good deaths, succeeded by new lives, and to the incidents of love that seeded them, your story has been woven. With the wild jubilation of nature, you are in correspondence. By every season’s conditions, and by the invisible holy inclination, your life has been hewn.

~Toko-pa Turner

finding love again and again….

inquiry for today~ what do you know as wild love today?

calling the depths

There isn’t anything in this world but mad

love. Not in this world. No tame love, calm

love, mild love, no so-so love. And, of course,

no reasonable love. Also there are a hundred

paths through the world that are easier than

loving. But, who wants easier? We dream of

love, we moon about, thinking of Romeo and

Juliet, or Tristan, or the lost queen rushing

away over the Irish sea, all doom and

splendor. Today, on the beach, an old man was

sitting in the sun. I called out to him, and he

turned. His face was like an empty pot. I re-

member his tall, pale wife; she died long ago.

I remember his daughter-in-law. When she

died, hard, and too young, he wept in the

streets. He picked up pieces of wood, and stones, and anything else that was there, and

threw them at the sea. Oh, how he loved his

wife. Oh, how he loved young Barbara. I

stood in front of him, not expecting any

answer yet not wanting to pass without some

greeting. But his face had gone back to

whatever he was dreaming. Something

touched me, lightly, like a knife-blade. I

felt I was bleeding, though just a little, a hint. Inside

I flared hot, then cold. I thought of you.

Whom I love, madly.

~Mary Oliver