Stream of Consciousness

The most popular myth of all is that love by definition must be romantic. Sex is not the defining aspect of love: it is only one symptom of one facet of one grain of sand on an infinite beach which encompasses the seething ocean of all humanity. Given enough time and enough patience, an individual could learn to love each and every member of this tumultuous, ever-changing family which we all share in common - such is the message which has been passed down through age after age by all forms and variants of the messianic leader, and such is the message which is misunderstood, generation upon generation, by those so bound by fear they would attempt to shackle the heavens themselves in order to bar the stars from shining. Love is a blinding burst of brilliance, without limits, without age, without flaw. The real glory, however, comes not in admiring it from a distance, but in embracing it for what it is - a jewel of surpassing perfection in the palm of one's hand, a crystal palace of curving halls and winding stairs leading one ever upwards, an iridescent looking-glass through which only truth may be seen. Too, it should be cautioned that once embraced, love is not easily released: does the prisoner go willingly back to their cage? Does the flower return easily to the bud? Fear is a prison crafted by will, and love is the light which no manmade bars may contain.

Embrace love, abandon fear. All humanity is a forest, one living, breathing, cooperative organism, every man, woman, and child a sparkling light among the thousands of branching growths, all tangled and intertwined in a labyrinth of explosive, thriving beauty, hope, and optimism. For every leaf which falls from the branch, a new sprout springs hale from the undergrowth, two limbs previously unconnected touch and intertwine, roots mingle and burst uncaring through the soil, building layer upon layer of foundations for the generations to come, men standing upon the shoulders of giants upon the shoulders of titans gazing out upon a misty, unformed future.

To abandon fear is to learn; to learn is to grow; to grow is to become free; to be free is to love. Fear not any earthly demon of uncertain mists and wavering shadows - death comes for us all, and it greets us as we greet it, with irresistible, peaceful joy or overwhelming terror by turn. Mind, a bullet may no more slay an idea than a blade may cut the tides. Though violence wounds the wielder as certainly as the victim, scars fade and new strength grows from the crushing embrace of hope, the tender caress of compassion, and the steadfast support of love. Love granted not only for oneself, not only for the heady intoxication of fresh romance, but for the mighty wellspring of eternal mystery that is all of our shared heritage. Still waters run deep, and this fountain's depths may be plumbed only by those willing to abandon their fears, shed the weighty fears of their pasts, and allow the love which surrounds their every waking moment to be the very light that guides them, the very air which nourishes them. Even as one trips upon epiphany and falls into the sky, cherished by the stars which have watched over us since birth, with every breath of love, the voice of humanity shouts a mighty, wordless cry to the boundless deeps, the lonesome wilds, and the shining heavens alike with a single unmistakable message: Do not forget, and cherish always, the divine's most precious gift to its creation. Love, always and without reservation. Love without bounds, love without fear, love without limits, for love unfettered presents us with a beautiful paradox, an enigma of scented petals and crystal droplets: though love will vanquish all challenges set before it with effortless grace and poise, love advances and retreats only upon command of its host.

Wherefore shalt thou lead, noble child of a misty past? Fear not learning: love asks only a chance, only the slightest breath of hope. Given the opportunity, love will burst through years of rubble left by ancient hurts untended and wounds disregarded as if only freshly born, bringing color to a world long since gray with only a breath to brush away the dust of memories left by skirmishes almost forgotten, aches like old friends, and wounds closed, but never healed.

If one will but only dare to dream the dream of love, child, fear not: for all will be well.