“I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where. I love you simply, without problems or pride: I love you in this way because I do not know any other way of loving but this, in which there is no I or you, so intimate that your hand upon my chest is my hand, so intimate that when I fall asleep your eyes close.” —Pablo Neruda, 100 Love Sonnets
Today it rains and natures beautiful, fluidity caresses itself with trillions of melting kisses. Here, in the semi-desert, rain is a precious gift but no more so than the ability to share our own love in similar manner with all the trillions of fractals that traverse the screen, eventually to melt them selves, into the rising tide of consciousness. And there I am, not in bliss, joy or any other state of dual existence but “that”. We cannot not be the love that we are.