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we avoid love like the plague, choosing instead its easier counterpart,

the dream of perfection, the story we retell in our sleep, the drama of possession and
regret. Love is free. and frees us, but we won¶t have it

we like our slavery to the dream of love the cheap imitation of our souls,

we know love will require of us things we are not willing to give up

our self amusement our egoistic failures and the petting of our pain like a poodle, the
flowering of our

self pity which runs like a river through the reality of love¶s call to us.

We spin on the head of a pin, dizzying our selves with delusions of something we think
of as our

Self but really darling what do we have to see now but the bottom of a cup we have
drained dry selfish and

Vain, we forget to see the Other and then its too late.

We say I would die for you but are not willing to live for the soul we think of as our own,.

( you realise don¶t you that this Soul is one Soul and you only carry a part of It around in
that body you so carefully

Tend to, painting , strengthening the frame while ignoring the real big picture.)

This call is not optional no matter what your free will prophets espouse

In the end, we will give ourselves up to Love

We will die and be reborn in it. We will lose consciousness and awaken fully

United to the thing we ran from all our lives.

(What is the story you tell about yourself to keep it alive? What would happen if you
allowed a new story to appear in its place this moment. one you were not aware of
existing but somewhere deep inside, it is your real familiar. The joy of not knowing. The
astonishment of who you are in some way you hadn't even imagined yetáá

So what does it matter now if you embrace it? In this life will it impact one molecule of
Your being any differently?

That¶s the thing. Aren¶t you dying to find out?

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