She lies in the bed, on her back. She lies like - no more, an angel resting. I look in, not realizing how much I have missed seeing her. I see, I feel the Beauty. “She knows you’re coming. She’s waiting for you.” The Beauty brings loveliness to this aging, dying body, which shines with ageless Life. Others would see just this apparent, a body dying. I see the obvious they could not see, for they do not have the heart to see; I see Loveliness. I see a Sanctuary of Life, glistening bright in the arid desert. That I know her, I see her, knowing and seeing through this flesh preparing to let go, and she leave. Grace fills this place, where others might see only death and seek escape. I seek to enter, to touch, closeness, where I do seem prepared to remain, even forever. I gazed upon her before, have seen upon her and through her many times, even rested within her, as she me. Souls mingle, when they each meet in deep Waters, shoreless. I enter. She reaches out an arm, with hand to hold mine. I move to the other side of her, place a chair close, close like our hearts have been, are. Never have I seen her so lovely. Words arise I cannot speak, I hope she knows. This silence is too grand, too sacred for words. We hold hands. We talk, commune one with one. I give her water, as she sits up on the side of the bed, then lies down again. If only I could say the love I know. We celebrate the past gatherings around her table, over many months. Mostly, she speaks with closed eyes, and I gaze upon her, waiting upon every movement of her gracious lips, holding what I could try to say within, but cannot here, now say. We seem to be move around the obvious, unable to touch it. But could we do more? Now, sharing in this same love felt, as before and before, even before that. We laugh. She says, “I want you to do one thing for me.” “What?,” I ask. She says, smiling, “I want you to be happy for me.” “I will,” I say. And I will, but I already ache of missing her - already. Such beauty she is, even in aging body, but not she. The body lovely for she is lovely. Such beauty, I in this body can barely bare, and that with exquisite pain, the price of love together inside Here. Days later, in Quiet, restful, I remember, and this Beauty. "I miss you." I shall never forget. Yes, "I am glad for you, and we know what cannot be said, thankfully, but knew. So, thank you. Those unspoken words live inside me, and will always before and with each memory of you. Words, unspoken, living inside our Love untouched by death. Unspoken, but alive, even as we remain."
* * *
Love has no other desire but to fulfill itself. But if you love and must needs have desires, let these be your desires: To melt and be like a running brook that sings its melody to the night. To know the pain of too much tenderness. To be wounded by your own understanding of love; And to bleed willingly and joyfully. To wake at dawn with a winged heart and give thanks for another day of loving; To rest at the noon hour and meditate love's ecstasy; To return home at eventide with gratitude; And then to sleep with a prayer for the beloved in your heart and a song of praise upon your lips.
*Kahlil Gibran. The Prophet.
*For previous writings in this series, see April 7.12, 22, 27, May 9.
