True love can not be whispered
with even the most pleasing of words,
For the love which can be whispered
has been given name and shape ,a beginning, an end
and the love which I have known to be true
The truth which can be spoken of
is not the real truth,
For that which is spoken is ever changing like the wind
and the ones who speak shift endlessly like desert sand;
the truth which I could promise to tell you so sweetly
may taste bitter on your own soft lips.
One may perform a thousand kind gestures
from the deepest core of the purest heart,
but even this can not be called love;
For love can not be done or undone, nor given nor received:
Love is the unbound space from which all arises
and in which all movement occurs.
If I could give love a name
I would call it truth
and I would call truth love;
For what I have discovered
is that there is no truth which could not be witnessed as love,
neither a love which could be dismissed as untrue.
You tell me that I do not know about love
and neither could I know of such things;
But just as surely as nothing can truly be shared,
the stardust singing in me is the same that dances in you;
And when all that was ever thought has been forgotten,
a certain harmony will be revealed.
There is a place from which galaxies are born,
empty of all that could be known,
We will meet there – before this so clumsily touched
and I will know you by your light;
By the absence of that which is not.
I call this love,
all being united – in naked, resplendent, perfection.