That Tiny Pungent Bite

Love is so much more than a romantic notion. Ideas come and go. Fantasies come and go. Relationships may come and go, but love is always here.

It is the warp in the material parts of life, the woof in the rest. Always discernible, but seldom overtly set in concrete. Too eternal to retain one shape without undulations, too strong to snap even when it appears to be stressed to the limit. Anything less is only a mirage, a minor manifestation of a power too great to comprehend.

When I cannot find the love, I am not looking for the real thing. It is so easy to search for personal identification, homemade theologies made in our own image. Love is more like a fine wine. Take a sip, allow it to slide over all the taste buds, swallow it and then breathe in its fragrance. Somewhere, right at the center-point, where all things touch, is that tiny pungent bite that is the real thing.

Elusive, subtle, something of an acquired taste in its most potent form, is Love. Perfect for babies and enlightened ones, it can be a tough place for the rest of us. No shilly shallying here. No wallowing in reflections and pretending it is the real thing, anymore than one might pretend to breathe.

This is the ocean and we have been tossed in. Whether we sink or swim is a moot point. It is all love anyway.