Weed of Love

I wanted to call my most recent experience of Love just a Novocaine for my present state.

Just yesterday I dismissed it as something that just covered pain in my life.

I wanted to minimize it so that it was manageable.

I tried to cheapen it with words and bury it in a flurry of anecdotal actions.

But something profound has happened. Something I didn't expect.

I tried to pull it up by it's root. It appeared weak. It had already been mangled, stomped and torn by family and friends on both sides. But the root is too deep. How could something go so deep in so short a time?

I tore at all the outward evidence, but what remains, continues to grow.

I think this last year changed what love meant to me. Now, this weed, not planted by me, is beyond my control.

Oh, thank God it isn't the obsessive, manipulating, controlling, ugly form of love. That isn't actually love, but a devouring possessiveness. I find those kinds to be easy to uproot and cut them off instinctively. No, there is a curious, fateful pureness to this unrootable love.

I appologize for insulting it. I will nurture it now. It may not be planted in the soil of my design, but there may be a wisdom involved that is presently beyond me.

I am exhausted from the attempted uprooting. Dishonored, yet it remains. I am laying (panting, spent, soar, and surprised). This is a wild root, beyond anyone's control. It is not a novocaine of pleasure, but a heart ravishing un-reciprocated anomaly that refuses to be removed.

I will honor it now.

(this is the second letter - the only one that may ever be seen.)