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July 11, 2016

Love is Not what we Think it is. {Poem}

roses crushed

Love is not what we think it is—what we always thought it was.

It is not this pretty, gleaming thing that can save us from ourselves.

It is not the diamond, while we are the coal.

It is not having someone to fall into, to avoid our issues and conveniently circumvent the lows of loneliness that plague us late at night.

It is not finding someone just as f*cked up as we are, so we can blame our slimy problems on them.

It is not hiding in the warm arms of another and feeling only happy, blissful, carefree feelings forever.

Love—true love—

It brings our darkest, most caked-on, juiciest sh*t bubbling to the surface.

It takes us right to the writhing center of our deepest wound.

 

What a blessing it is…

 

Oh my dear, our bubble of illusion is burst.

Our delusions will starve.

Only truth remains.

Let us feed truth.

Let us feed each other’s souls—

Not each other’s fears.

 

Love is not easy.

Love is not a precious, fragile fairytale of coiffed, costume sweetness.

It is not this pretty, gleaming thing that can save us from ourselves.

It is not tip-toeing around the edges of darkness, showing each other only our pretty parts—the lovely, sunlit masks of what we think we’re expected to be.

Love is the darkness. The things that hide underneath. The absolute, wild absurdity of everything. The pure beauty in the gritty, sweaty tears.

Love is the shattering. The rebuilding. The evolution. The absolute and utter removal of every goddamn obstacle that stands in our way.

Love is truly powerful—

It’s power from heart.

 

What a blessing it is…

 

Oh my dear, our bubble of illusion is burst.

Thank goodness.

And it hurts.

But in the hurt, there is profound healing.

Our beliefs are blown up, and truth grows madly now, like purple wildflowers through the cracks.

Because love is not coddling you or enabling you.

It is not letting you trample all over me, as I trample all over you.

Love is not drowning in you, as you drown in me.

It is respecting you enough to challenge you.

To call you right out on your sh*t.

As you call me out on mine.

 

Love is honesty in its purest form.

It is truth itself.

And truth—

Sometimes truth is bitter.

But it’s sweet too, as we witness each other’s ripest tears.

Giving each other the gentle space we need to peel away our shiny masks

To become who we always were,

Who we really are,

Who we need to be.

 

Oh my dear, our bubble of illusion is burst.

Our delusions will starve.

Only truth remains.

I cannot hide, even for a second.

I cannot hide from you—or from myself.

And I cannot love you when I hate myself.

The best way to love you?

I never expected it.

By honoring myself. My dreams. My dripping passions.

The best way for you to love me?

By honoring yourself. Your dreams. Your dripping passions.

And this needs to happen—

Every.

Single.

Day.

 

But love will still reach us, even at our worst.

It can still bloom when our hearts are bathed in self-loathing.

It can still flourish in a climate of pleasing and appeasing and abandoning our selves.

Love can still soar when we believe we are worthless.

As long as we’re willing to talk about it,

To be honest—

Love can reach there.

Love can reach anywhere, especially the places we think are utterly grotesque and unlovable.

 

Oh my dear, our bubble of illusion is burst.

Love is not what we thought it was.

It is much fiercer than we’d dreamed it to be—

More chock-full of dripping reality.

Fiery and utterly overflowing with transformation.

Love is honesty in its purest form.

It is truth itself.

It is courage.

It is deliciously dangerous to the parts of us that adamantly refuse growth.

Love will not allow us the fantasy privilege of hiding behind our most wonderful masks.

It is so real, so naked, so undressed and uncut—it makes our knees shake.

It is so beautiful, the kind of beauty that trickles to the darkest, thirstiest places within us.

 

Love is not what we think it is, what we always thought it was.

It is not this sweet, pretty thing that can save us from ourselves.

But it will make us face ourselves,

Together.

Love brought all of our sh*t bubbling to the surface.

Now we can heal.

 

What a blessing…

 

Oh my dear, our bubble of illusion is burst.

Only truth remains.

I love you. You love me.

And it hurts.

It has to hurt, so we can heal.

Let’s not look away from what this love can unpeel and reveal—

Stand bravely in the windswept field of truth

With me,

Won’t you?

Let’s dive deeply in.

Let us feed each other’s souls—

Not each other’s fears.

.

Author: Sarah Harvey

Image: Flickr/Todd Huffman

Editors: Yoli Ramazzina; Renée Picard

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