This day of love, chocolates and poems is a good day


valentine heart

“When love first tasted the lips of being human, it started singing.” ~ Rumi

It’s quite something to realize that love is all there is. Before our awakening…during and after. In spite of it, because of it.
There is love even in the refusal of love. Even the fear knows the magnificence of what it fears.

So it’s simple.

If you found that which all seek, someone whose qualities increase your soul as Rumi says, then celebrate. Find a way. Remember. Trust. Nothing else matters.

If not, then open your eyes and see. Open. You will know when it crosses your path, because it will seem impossible. Everything will seem impossible. And it will frighten you, and you will run. And then you will realize that you are running, and that you have found what you seek. And then you will celebrate it. Find a way. Remember. Trust. Because nothing else matters.

Yes, I know, today is a commercialized holiday, and everything is overpriced, and people buy lots of things they might not buy otherwise.

Be glad if you are buying and celebrating. Be glad of a little folly. Buy lots and lots of flowers, hide chocolates in little pockets, and make someone feel beautiful and loved. Allow what matters to matter.

We are robbed in many ways in this life. Today is not the day to protest the evils of consumerism. If it offends you so, then make a donation, adopt a stray, do something nice for a stranger.

I’ve been writing love poems in this blog for a long time now. Most are disguised as posts. My favorite one remains un-shared, but it wouldn’t be Valentine’s Day without a poem, and so I give you Pablo of course. His verses are obviously better than mine could ever hope to be, but also very much the same. Love sings in many voices. And even if some are awkward or shy, and others truly magnificent, there’s a beautiful song in all.

Enjoy, love and be loved. Happy Valentine’s day!

“Before I loved you, Love, nothing was my own:
I wavered through the streets, among objects:
nothing mattered or had a name:
the world was made of air, which waited.

I knew rooms full of ashes,
tunnels where the moon lived,
rough warehouses that growled Get Lost,
questions that insisted in the sand.

Everything was empty, dead, mute,
fallen, abandoned, and decayed:
inconceivably alien, it all

belonged to someone else – to no one:
till your beauty and your poverty
filled the autumn plentiful with gifts.”

~ Pablo Neruda


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