When we use our attention to touch and open the deeper truth in a person, we not only catalyze the experience of love, we become love. The source of love is revealed to be within us; we no longer have to go looking for it somewhere outside.
—Nicole Daedone, “Love Becomes Her,” Tricycle Magazine
It is not too late for love.
Tonight the moon rose,
as it always does, but it
was not the same. It rose
as if close enough to touch,
right there, but I could not touch it.
I gave it my whole attention, then,
listened only to the sound
of it turning while we, too,
were turning, though the sage,
the rocks, the dry arroyo
did not attest to our turning.
The desert had other sounds, too,
but I had, for that moment,
ears only for the moon,
and felt, how strange, my own rising,
felt it so fully I nearly cheered
as the whole vacant shine of it
crested the mesa, cheered though
it was further away then,
or so it seemed, further away, or so,
I see, it only seemed.
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