Three Strikes

I've received this poem three times -- from three different places -- in the last week. It happens to be one of my all-time favorite poems, so it's welcome...but I find it very interesting nonetheless...

The Sun Never Says

Even after

all this time

the sun never says to the earth,

"You owe me."

Look 

what happens 

with a love like that --

It lights the whole world.

-- Hafiz

When something comes my way three times, I have learned to pay attention.


I type for a living.  Or at least part of my living.  Mostly, I type legal stuff -- police interviews recounting heinous crimes, stories of people not at their best.  But every once in a great while, I get a bonus -- some file that is not merely benign, but actually life-giving, creative, candy for my ears. 


Such was the case a few years ago when I was asked to transcribe six hours of poetry.  SIX HOURS OF POETRY.  In at least five different languages.  There were poems and then discussions about the meanings of poems.  There was history of the poets and the tying together of that poet in time and place, her poem, its then-meaning, and its current-meaning.

The poem above happened to be included on the audio.  I loved it then.  I love it now.  It's the simplest form I know to convey the way I intend to live my life.  


Over the last several years, as I have started to reflect on relationships and self and personhood, I have had to get down to what I'm all about and what I want to be all about.  And time and time again, I come back to this simple and yet unbelievably difficult-to-live notion:  It's ALL about the LOVE.  It's about that kind of love that I can afford to give for free, which costs me nothing.  It costs me nothing except the open-hearted willingness. 


It's not the tie-myself-in-knots-to-fit-your-life kind of love.  It's not the we've-known-each-other-forever-and-it's-really-great-to-see-you kind of love.  It's not the passionate, can't-get-to-bed-fast-enough kind of love.  It's not EVEN the I-am-your-mother-and-as-such-I-love-you kind of love.  


It's different.


It is the I-can-see-you-there kind of love.  It's the sacred-in-me-sees-the-sacred-in-you kind of love.  It's the my-humanness-depends-on-me-feeling-and-giving-away-this-love kind of love.


Many of the people to whom I give this kind of love are not the people I would choose if logic ruled my world.  But there comes a day, when I've sat quietly and reflected, and been still with myself, when I know exactly what comes next in my struggles.  I reach for this kind of love inside my very own soul.  And as I start to pull it out of me and set it free in my world, it multiplies.  It feeds me.  And it frees me. 


I'm not perfect.  Trust me.  There's plenty of people in the world who've experienced my imperfections.  But I have hope today.  I have hope because I've experienced this kind of love in my life.  I've been fortunate to be the recipient of this kind of love.  But I'm more fortunate to be the giver of this kind of love.