Love is the source of life.
Love is the living well of movement, of self, of will, of action.
Without love,
life is just fading momentum without true propulsion
the meaningless escape of residual heat without real fire:
mechanical, violent, arbitrary.
My loveless little heart can not nourish it’s own life force,
let alone be a source of love for the life beyond the body.
It matters not the size of the vessel that overflows,
nor the limitations or relative capabilities of the faithful servant,
the perfection of love transcends and wholes
the impossibility of perfection in form.
Broken to bits, and unpleasant to be around,
I pray to come to the secret of love,
to find that lost inner garden,
and learn to feed myself and others from it.