Wrathful
January 6, 2009
Love is not pink, not soft like you think, it’s not cute, not sweet, not some lucky treat. Real love is fierce, like sharp teeth than can pierce
through your notions of normal and the habits you think noble. Love is wise, it has eyes, it recognizes lies, it sees your core, maybe more, it will fight to show you –you are more.
Love is not cute, not pink –it’s brute. It shakes and wakes you to what you are. You are deep, you are feeling, you are not sleeping. You are fearless to feel what others are hoping. You are brave, and can save others from dying. You are real, you have ears, you can feel peoples’ fears, and still be here.
It strikes with the wrath of a demon, with the roar of a lion, with the sword of war and the torch of reason, you are finally awake when you can attack your own stake in life and see the world. That all beings share the same feelings, the same hurts, the same dreamings, and realize that love – is the way home.
Love is not pink, not soft, not mute… it’s the warlike cry for change from the roots, it is the weapon for slicing our self-obsessed delusions. Love is blood, it is tears, is it colors, it sees everything and then gives shelter. Safety never felt so real, so tough, so bound to creation. Love is wrath, it is refuge, it is liberation.
