I had a dream that Love was dead. Her face was caked in dirt, eyes oozed a brown fluid, green puss seeped from the ears and countless wooden stakes were driven through the body. The ashen face was too much to comprehend, the suffering, too great to fathom, too dreadful to dream. What had we done? Had we truly murdered Love, assassinated the whole of Love?
I called out to Love, I shrieked to the heavens, but her eyes remained vacant, stilled by death, sunken from murder, emptied of goodness. I felt the tears flooding my face as I howled a solemn prayer for Love to breathe once again. Do not forsake us, your children, do not fade from our foul use! Wake up! Wake up! I shuddered from the silence, death had at last found its way into Love.
I awoke drenched in sweat. The morning light poured through the window. I thought, if Love was dead, to whom was I praying?
© 2011 by mark prime
Something hasn’t just been stolen from "us" and it is not merely "democracy", or some other word that means little to Love, that has the power to "give" it back...
One cannot steal Love; therefore Love has not been stolen. Our minds have been hijacked and we’re holding the box-cutter to our own throats. One might choose to demolish the flesh and bone of children, but one cannot steal the Love that is born in them. It isn't for sale and it isn't for the taking. One can also choose to keep all of the things that they have allowed another to pile on top of the Love born inside of them and then scream about their love for some delusional freedom that has been and continues to be offered to only some of the people some of the time, but not all of the people all of the time.
We are not free. It has been a very long time in coming, this idea of freedom, this delusion of liberation from the shackles of fear, and it has arrived without us! We are allowing fear to conquer our will. It has arrived before man has given himself over to Love, the only thing that will save him from himself, from his ideas, from his thoughts, from his ego. Love, which is free, arrived long before man had thought, long before man decided he owned her, long before he decided it was his to conquer. The thought is not enough, the signs are not enough, the marches are not enough if we cannot see beyond our own desires, our own inability to change, our own failure, our own sightlessness when we argue for or against our own inept words, our own hopeless ideas and our own clumsy and corrupted ideas of forgiveness.
If we choose to love what we love, we are missing out on the rest of Love. Love isn't divisible. Love is its own. It is all. Love is Love and it never changes. It is we who change. We change to fit our own self interests despite our braying to the contrary. We can either choose to stop this idea that any one of us knows more than the next or we can wholly fail.
If our words are to reflect Love then they must come from Love which knows no sides, no philosophy, no religion, no race, color or creed! Let us imagine ourselves bringing nothing to the table but Love! Love must rule any movement in order to move the world; the 100%...
