I hear the deep discordant murmurs, and they drive me back to source to recall oracles of love. I hear that love is the only attribute that yearns to, or can be, the fixative to our desert wandering. The proof, you ask? I have it.
A friend and scholar bringing me food when I was starving; admiration with a single word from poet and philosopher, shared space and love of another, smile from a friend, word from a daughter, touch from a son, steady hand cradling the child, guidance of mentor, embrace by heroes, invites from others, and true confessions held and honored by me from all of you. It’s never a me or we, but only love listening to the deep murmurs drowning the joy of our human catholic.
But I’m not done with the list of love, even when it was formed long before me: as in wins, losses, and sacrifices; simple advancements of care through votes for National Parks and roadways, science, medicine, education, well-engineered machines, and well-managed humanities.
I am accepting of this world, and its attendant vale of tears, as it’s all I have. But if love draws me to work, I will aim for truthfulness and audacity. Compelled by this double force for courage, I’ll treat this difficult and harrowing world as THOU, not as IT. That will define my acts not as searching for, but as being in the world and doing the right thing.
This is its own reward, and in my brief and grave traverse in this world, I will willfully participate (I would like to joyfully participate but that’s not always possible) and contribute my voice, along with my hands and feet, to confirm the rumor that love is still alive. I’ve seen it, and I think it lives in you, as it does in me, in the acts of our hands and feet, the blood tracks of our souls.
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