When Love Speaks
Beginnings. It’s what my brain is telling my fingers to shape this week. The series starts HERE with one of my all-time favorite pieces. Today’s piece is a love letter. Thank you for visiting, for reading, and for sharing my words.
Did love speak you into being? Everyone exists because of the same gyrations, sometimes loving, sometimes clinical, identical mergings of this particle with that one to create a diaspora of color, individualism, and uniqueness.
It seems a trite story to explain you.
I wasn’t there on that frozen January morning when you made your grand entrance. Your mother was practiced, having delivered three siblings before you. Your father was wherever he was, doing whatever he wanted to do. It doesn’t take two loving parents to speak a child to life. You had one, and she was there with you at 3:30 on a snowy Saturday morning. The 18th of January. 1964.
She can tell me otherwise. But, here’s what I know.
You entered the world knowing. How to sear the human skin and be a seer of the soul. The precise instructions for giving to others before thinking of yourself. When to cry, and when to crinkle your eyes to make the gorgeous laugh lines you now bear. What to say to make other people feel accomplished. Gifted. Promising. Where to encourage a student to see themselves far beyond the world they drew in a sketchbook.
Every day with you is another package to be unwrapped. Savored. You are my favorite person, the one who takes the raw edges and colors them, untangles them, unites them in a way I could never envision on my own.
Your beginning enriches the existence of so many. That I am fortunate enough to experience beginning with you every day is the gift of my life, doled out in pieces, one voracious moment at a time.
Thank you for choosing one moment to say hello to me, for being the stalwart rock of my life, for shining light on the lives of everyone you meet.
A lover’s eyes will gaze an eagle blind.
A lover’s ear will hear the lowest sound,
When the suspicious head of theft is stopped.
Love’s feeling is more soft and sensible
Than are the tender horns of cockled snails.
Love’s tongue proves dainty Bacchus gross in taste.
For valor, is not Love a Hercules,
Still climbing trees in the Hesperides?
Subtle as Sphinx; as sweet and musical
As bright Apollo’s lute, strung with his hair.
And when Love speaks, the voice of all the gods
Make heaven drowsy with the harmony.
Love’s Labours Lost Act 4 Scene 3 (Click on the link to see Kenneth Branagh’s version of my favorite Shakespeare passage of all time.)