Nah, don’t touch it. Don’t try to alter its course.
It’s so pure, let it not be smudged by your or my interpretation. It’s so vast, it will break through the frail parapet of the worldly house of definition. Someone came very close, calling it a butterfly. A butterfly that pleases where it goes, and goes where it pleases.
Let it please. But only as much it wants, it warrants. Obey its command, for when it’s not meddled by human desires, it never hurts. It’s not in its nature to hurt. It only lifts. Sleep on its carpet, wake up in its embrace, breathe in its peace, smart in its longing, cry in its coming, expect in its leaving, laugh in its generosity. Do everything but belittle it.
It is a warm shower on a perfect spring morning, sprinkled with bright fragrant petals. Let the petals touch you, tickle you, tease you. But no, resist the power to grab the petal and squeeze out the smell. It might rub off its heady perfume on your hands, but you will have wrenched out its life before it had matured to bestow that grace upon you. Let it decide, trust in its power. It may take some time, some lifetimes…but it won’t betray. Its sunshine will lit up the corners of your life; just throw away your blanket of assumptions. Its genuine care will give you more than you ever had; but be careful not to mar it with expectations.
Let it bathe you. Let it embarrass you. Let it change you. Allow it to pull you out from the mire of confusion into the arena of light. Dance with it. Remember not to dominate it. And if you see it going away, believe with the patience of a true follower, that it will return.
It’s Love. It will find a way.