You enter the forest
at the darkest point,
where there is no path.
Where there is a way or path,
it is someone else’s path.
You are not on your own path.
If you follow someone else’s way,
you are not going to realize
your potential.
~ Joseph Campbell
I seem to have loved you in numberless forms, numberless times…
In life after life, in age after age, forever.
My spellbound heart has made and remade the necklace of songs,
That you take as a gift, wear round your neck in your many forms,
In life after life, in age after age, forever.
Whenever I hear old chronicles of love, its age-old pain,
Its ancient tale of being apart or together.
As I stare on and on into the past, in the end you emerge,
Clad in the light of a pole-star piercing the darkness of time:
You become an image of what is remembered forever.
You and I have floated here on the stream that brings from the fount.
At the heart of time, love of one for another.
We have played alongside millions of lovers, shared in the same
Shy sweetness of meeting, the same distressful tears of farewell –
Old love but in shapes that renew and renew forever.
Today it is heaped at your feet, it has found its end in you
The love of all man’s days both past and forever:
Universal joy, universal sorrow, universal life.
The memories of all loves merging with this one love of ours –
And the songs of every poet past and forever.
Rabindranath Tagore
Unspoken permission is always granted with love like this.
When we walk, let’s embrace as we unknowingly synchronize our saunters.
Let’s write scribbly, little notes we can discover stuffed in our bedside tables, or find inside the books on the shelf when we reorganize one day.
Remember the time I tucked one in the front cover of that best seller you took on your work trip? It fell out at that coffee shop and everyone in line was envious of your smile.
Let’s be considerate when we make plans, aware of each other’s time and space.
Let’s share the details. This gives me fuel.
It helps me understand you a little more: who you are, what you do and how you live your life day to day.
I yearn to know you completely even though there’s no possible way I ever will.
You will keep a little piece tucked away, just for you, and I will do the same.
I love to look at you when you’re unaware that I am. To witness you interact with the world is my privilege.
You are constant and ever changing. An enigma. My edge. My ocean.
I yearn to be beside you at all times.
On the days I cannot visit your shore, I take comfort in your echoed presence: your taste, your touch.
I wear you on my face.
When I say your name or I think of you, my eyes wrinkle and my cheeks crease.
It’s obvious, you exist now and I am most myself simply by knowing you.
I wish to love you in the ways you need to be loved and I will honor them even if they challenge me.
That’s what you do when you love someone—you speak his language and in return, he speaks yours without doubt or question.
I’ve never understood why I need what I need.
You understand this more than I do.
Be needy, you say.
Affection is my sustenance from the right source.
You are mine and I am yours.
We show up for each other.
I will show up for you, my love, even if it’s inconvenient, and I will show myself to you, even if it’s uncomfortable.
I won’t censor myself, because, I trust you.
I know there will be many times you won’t agree with what you hear, but you will listen.
I will do the same.
I will never tire of telling you that I love you, or grabbing hold of your hand as we rise from the table and walk away from another meal shared.
Even if you’ve told me hundreds and thousands of times before, tell me again, because, it’s the first time every time.
That’s how I know this is true. You will never get old, not to me.
We will make plans throughout the hours, the days and the years.
They will stack one on top of the other until they create a history we can ache for as our bones brittle and the only strength we have left is our memory.
So, we spend the dusk of our lives reminiscing about the daylight.
We are the foundation upon which love built a life.
Even during the times we almost crumbled, we didn’t.
Love rescued us each time.
That’s what this love is for—miracles.
We are a miracle in the simplest form–I chose you and you chose me.
Indistinguishable flesh and bones and beating, bloody hearts filled with passion for this life we live at the same time, together.
We will feast on each other and never fill completely; it’s impossible to, because, this love is bottomless.
I will always have room for you.
For you, my love, are my eternal nourishment.
Rebecca Lammersen
Paarbeziehung scheitert, wenn der Partner all unsere emotionalen Bedürfnisse erfüllen soll, die Beziehung zu uns selbst und die Beziehung zur Natur/zum großen Ganzen aber unterentwickelt sind.
Das weibliche Prinzip mag wie Eva verführen, doch eigentlich ist es der Ruf zu einem höheren Bewusstsein.
Die Wiederentdeckung der Polarität ist die Transformation.
Das weibliche Prinzip erwärmt sich langsam und hält lange warm; bietet Raum und Zeit und gibt die notwendige Energie, damt sich etwas entwickeln kann.
Der Bumerang des Patriarchats ist der verletzte weibliche Schoß und das verletzte männliche Herz.
Der männliche Pol muss sich entladen, bei der Frau über das Gefühl und beim Mann sexuell.
Frauen sehnen sich nach unvoreingenommenem Annehmen ihrer Liebe. Männer sehnen sich nach jemandem, der sie sexuell wirklich will.
Wir flüchten lieber in die Komfortzone des Leidens, anstatt die Körperfeindlichkeit zu überwinden. Die große Herausforderung bei der Transformation ist: FÜLLE AUSHALTEN. Also Ekstase.
Und den weiblichen Kosmos zu integrieren. ES ENTSTEHEN LASSEN.
Tattva Viveka 66, p.50 ff.
Ein leises Lächeln steigt aus meinen Knöcheln empor,
lacht in meinen Knien,
kriecht hinauf an meiner Baumrinde
und erfüllt mich mit berstenden Knospen
durchsichtiger Freude.
Die Luft meiner Lungen beschließt heiter
im Nachtwind zu wohnen.
Du überfällst noch einmal meine linke Schulter,
wild
und süß
mit deinen Zähnen.
I didn’t want to kiss you goodbye – that was the trouble – I wanted to kiss you goodnight. And there’s a lot of difference.
Ernest Hemingway
There’s a place I go to
Where no one knows me
It’s not lonely
It’s a necessary thing
It’s a place I made up
Find out what I’m made of
The nights I stayed up
Counting stars and fighting sleep
Let it wash over me
Ready to lose my feet
Take me off to the place where one reveals life’s mystery
Steady on down the line
Lose every sense of time
Take it all in and wake up that small part of me
Day to day I’m blind to see
And find how far
To go
Everybody got their reason
Everybody got their way
We’re just catching and releasing
What builds up throughout the dayIt gets into your body
And it flows right through your blood
We can tell eachother secrets
And remember how to love
There’s a place I’m going
No one knows me
If I breathe real slowly
Let it out and let it in
They can be terrifying
To be slowly dying
Also clarifying
The end where we begin
So let it wash over me
I’m ready to lose my feet
Take me off to the place where one reveals life’s mystery
Steady on down the line
Lose every sense of time
Take it all in and wake up that small part of me
Day to day I’m blind to see
And find how far
To go
After A While
After a while you learn
the subtle difference between
holding a hand and chaining a soul
and you learn
that love doesn’t mean leaning
and company doesn’t always mean security.
And you begin to learn
that kisses aren’t contracts
and presents aren’t promises
and you begin to accept your defeats
with your head up and your eyes ahead
with the grace of woman,
not the grief of a child
and you learn
to build all your roads on today
because tomorrow’s ground is
too uncertain for plans
and futures have a way of falling down
in mid-flight.
After a while you learn
that even sunshine burns
if you get too much
so you plant your own garden
and decorate your own soul
instead of waiting for someone
to bring you flowers.
And you learn that you really can endure
you really are strong
you really do have worth
and you learn
and you learn
with every goodbye, you learn…
~ 1971, Veronica A. Shoffstall
marie kleister 