Discovering Love

Two or three times in my life I discovered love
Each time it seemed to solve everything
Each time it solved a great many things
but not everything
Yet left me grateful as if it had indeed, and thoroughly, solved everything
Mary Oliver

I am discovering love.

I recently embarked on a new kick (those who know me, understand that I become intensely passionate about certain things for a season)…right now, I wake each morning to a new poem, setting my intentions for the day. These words greeted me, and immediately, my vision bombarded me with images.

There’s my friend, a mother of a curious, precocious 14 month old, who had to cancel dinner theater plans last night due to his cold and her steadfast vision of duty and care. There’s the yoga teacher who touches my forehead and blesses me after morning class on friday, the only real touch I encounter in a week. There’s the card from my aunt, recognizing a small victory, arriving late but at the moment of exacting insecurity. There’s the blogger I know just beginning to recover from a relapse, slowly nourished by words or the gestures of those who know her and those that do not. There’s the biting reprimand of a loved one leaving my stomach irritable in validation of its truth.

These moments appear in a flash, solving everything…mirroring the moment mom scooped me up in her arms after falling on my bike (again) and her embrace masking my failure and her kisses healing my shame. And then, gossamer and fragile, their irradescence evaporates, and the gap between me and mother is not solely geographic.

I am discovering love…more the love of this tension, this mystery, this me.


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