I cannot eat chocolate right now, which is perhaps why I remembered about this old chocolate wrapper that I kept because of the green colour and the love poem:

A part of this poem called The DREAM echos in my head:

” Love is not love until love’s vulnerable”

Here I am in day 18 of my challenge, it really is a challenge…love is too simple for my mind, which loves complications.

When I set out to learn about love I meant non-romantic love, just love for love’s sake.

But love is a loaded word, and when this word is said, romantic love is the first thing that surfaces in a person’s mind and in conversations with others.

I thought I could get away from that, I thought I was different, more emotionally and spiritually mature.  But trying to get away from things is a sure recipe for asking life to send them to you with an express registered mail that requires your signature upon receiving.  There is no way you can pretend you didn’t get it.

When the mail person shows up at your door with a mystery package, and asks you to sign you get excited from the expectation of that magical thing that you have been waiting for all your life. That thing that could change your life… forever.

And as you open the package with trembling hands, your heart pulsates through fear and thrill.  Is it IT?  Or is it not IT?  Would this be a repeat of past disappointing mail?  How do I know?…You start unwrapping the package, you feel something substantial inside.  It is wrapped in paper with beautiful color, you had seen similar paper before, but this one is a touch different and more attractive.   Is it that magic thing that will transform everything to the state of living happily ever after.  As you unwrap the paper your mind goes through all the possibilities of what the perfect thing would be like and what it would look like.

But the reality is slowly creeping in, and happily ever after is slipping away from your fingers with every layer you unwrap.  It has a beautifully ornamented wooden handle, with vibrant colours and original design.  It has been hand made specially for you.  And as you stare at it you realize it holds little of what you had hoped for and much of what you feared.  It is a damn mirror.

the poem ends

“I came to love.  I came into my own.”

by Theodore Roethke

This entry was posted on Thursday, June 18th, 2009 at 4:39 pm and is filed under LOVE. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.