What is love worth if not for a power of creation? Isn’t the internal wheel overall turned so to switch the course of the every day ordinary? Isn’t love a tide of new, in which the old can be re-seen with newborn eyes? Isn’t love to awaken the soul and open the heart and rip it out of the glass box our chest is and let it throb lively on the table?
So, love is not just about happiness and comfort but also about pain and transformation. It’s about breaking the old into a tsunami of new intensities and inspirations, and in that light the outcome really doesn’t matter but the courage to put the core into the process and allow the flesh to be raw. It’s about vulnerability to offer the open chest and when the wound opens, only big balls can afford to go through it without running away overwhelmed by fear.
Love is there to create heartfelt poetry and transformational books and remarkable movies and powerful art. Love is here for me so I can write better letters and cry denser tears and crack old concepts and step humbly into what I don’t know.
Love, and now pain, is here so I can grow out of the mediocrity of the normality and touch the land of the uncertain. And I see my insecurities and face my self-esteem and bump into my fears and touch my rejection complex and all the obscurity hidden inside my soul. Pain is here so I change my course and rethink what I thought so well that I knew for sure. Love and pain are here so to transpire sweat and blood and tears to then turn it all into gardens in my brain and life.
So let the pain come in and flush the still water, turn my swamp into running river, turn my lazy blood into splashing waterfalls of flux sprinting through my bloodstream. Love and pain are here so to prove that I’m alive.
