The lover’s gaze matters.

Perhaps the only thing that has ever mattered is to embody that gaze; it is mother and father to everything.  All life is born of it and blossoms within it: lizard and crow, fire and water, bone and breath.  How often we long to float directionless within it.  It is the sacred pool of the Infinite Heart.

Nearly every last thing will tell you not to linger here and very few will show you how to linger so that you are utterly saturated. You will be told that someone or something else is more important than becoming your own beloved—becoming The Beloved.

In spite of it all, something within you remembers—calling forth from the depths of your being:

stillness of long, winter nights,
steadfast beat of the temple drum,
resilience of turtle,
nascent perfume of spring’s first bud,
languid crescendo of summer’s eros,
wolverine courage, and
hawk presence.

It will reveal within you the rawness of reality unfiltered—a luminosity so un-curated and uncontained it is nearly unbearable to meet.  You may look away, but you will not stay away.  You have seen your own true face. 

You will return, again and again, until you are fully revealed and, in that revelation, overflowing.

This is the love that requires no lover and expresses as every lover.  Here you ignite and burn in its fire—unborn, undying, luminous, and free—nectar spilling from your lips, roses springing from your feet, morning’s bright curvature in your hands.

You are the temple of the Infinite Heart.