What's Love Got to Do with It?


I wish it weren't such a weighty word.  Because I find myself wanting to say it.  To tell him I love him.  And not in a let's be together forever and have lots of sex and babies kind of way (which family is a quote from a movie-chill out).

No.  The love I have for him has nothing to do with our could be or maybe not future.  It's like the love I have for the sun when it tickles my skin while pulling weeds at the farm.  Or the delight I experience when a fresh strawberry bursts open on my tongue.  Or the wonderful cracking open I feel each time I come to my yoga mat.

It is a love that just is.  Because he is a good.  And pure.  And wonderful man.  And I appreciate the time he devotes to me.  The things he says.  How he lives his life.  What he does.  Who he is.  And just as I want the sun to know I love its rays, the food I eat that I appreciate its nourishment, the practice I have that I honor its transformative power.  I want him to know those things too.

To know that I recognize him.  That I see him.  And that he is delightful.

But it's only been several weeks.  And he is there and I am here.  And love is a weighty word.  One that wields much power.  Can cause fear and constriction.  Turning away.

And I don't want the sun he's brought into my life to stop shinning.  I don't want the delight and brilliance and transformation to fade.  And I'm afraid that if I let those words loose they will shift things.

Create expectations.  Rules.  Boundaries.  Where none are now.  Where at this point I'm not even sure any should be or ever will be.

Because saying I love you is not like picking which movie you want to watch.

It is real.  And important.  And if you take it back it hurts.

So I keep the words in my mouth when we speak.

Then I remember that video about the horse.  And I realize that really, because we are mirrors for each other, the love I have.  The love that wants to rush out and spill onto him.  It's about me.  It's mine.

All he's done is reflected the deep delight and joy and love I have for myself.  The recognition and sight I at last have found for me.

Not for my life.  Or my place.  Or for what I do and think and feel.  But for who I am.

For the good and pure and wonderful woman I finally see myself to be.

And that.  That kind of mirroring.  That brillance.  And delight.  And knowing is so much bigger than he is.  Than I am.  Than our could be or maybe not future is.

Which makes the words suddenly seem small and unimportant.  Because the gift he's given me is one I'll always carry with me.  One that will color all I do.

So I don't have to say it.  He'll see it.  You all will.  Because now I do.


Warning the first 40 seconds of this video are terrible but the cover is worth it so just tough out the beginning.

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