|
||||||||||
 |
 |
||
| January 7 The secret to finding love was to let it come to me. For years I searched for love. There were times in my youth I would drive into a new neighborhood, hoping to discover love sitting on some doorstep, or crossing the street at an intersection – stopping to look my way and recognize me. I practiced love. At least once each day I tired to fall madly in love with someone in the distance – but never reached my destination. No one looked my way. I never did the bar scene. Lack of self-confidence kept me out of competitive environments. So I dreamed– - and found within - – A perfect, faceless, nameless love – a love that felt so real, I wrote poetry to it, created from loneliness dedicated to my perfect dream. Then my dreams ended. All that remained was the poetry. Content, I no longer desired to be a participant in life: I assumed the more comfortable role – that of detached observer. Then, unexpectedly, love entered my life. It touched deep inside me. And I recognized her voice She spoke to me – words heard before - but only in my dreams. Images of a faceless past returned, this time with form and beauty – and I recognized her face. All the poems I’d written, all the love I’d dreamt, was now gift wrapped and presented to me. As in my ancient dreams, that love was eagerly accepted. I'd not been searching when love found me, the same love I'd discovered in my youthful dreams but which was not destined to be mine until this future time when love discovered -– and returned - to me. |
 |
|
 |
||
