we avoid love like the plague, choosing instead its easier counterpart, the dream of perfection, the story

we retell in our sleep, the drama of possession and regret. Love is free. and frees us, but we won¶t have it we like our slavery to the dream of love the cheap imitation of our souls, we know love will require of us things we are not willing to give up our self amusement our egoistic failures and the petting of our pain like a poodle, the flowering of our self pity which runs like a river through the reality of love¶s call to us. We spin on the head of a pin, dizzying our selves with delusions of something we think of as our Self but really darling what do we have to see now but the bottom of a cup we have drained dry selfish and Vain, we forget to see the Other and then its too late. We say I would die for you but are not willing to live for the soul we think of as our own,. ( you realise don¶t you that this Soul is one Soul and you only carry a part of It around in that body you so carefully Tend to, painting , strengthening the frame while ignoring the real big picture.) This call is not optional no matter what your free will prophets espouse In the end, we will give ourselves up to Love We will die and be reborn in it. We will lose consciousness and awaken fully United to the thing we ran from all our lives. (What is the story you tell about yourself to keep it alive? What would happen if you allowed a new story to appear in its place this moment. one you were not aware of existing but somewhere deep inside, it is your real familiar. The joy of not knowing. The astonishment of who you are in some way you hadn't even imagined yet..) So what does it matter now if you embrace it? In this life will it impact one molecule of Your being any differently? That¶s the thing. Aren¶t you dying to find out?

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