Ode to True Love

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If I could dream of the perfection of love, it would have nothing in it of half-truths and insincere proclamations. It would see fleeing toward it from a great distance the beckoning moonbeams decorating the sky or rainbows enticing onlookers to the pot of gold to be found in the blazing amber orchid glowing in the western horizon at sundown, the twilight afterglow, the dancing Indian bands reflected in the play of shadows and light in the night sky venerated as the Northern Lights. It would celebrate the harvest moon and the Mid-Autumn Festival, daybreak and the first burst of sunshine over the horizon, the accompanying cock crow, the mournful call of the mourning dove, and the solitary call of the lunatic loon. Love would see fleeing toward it from a great distance the boundless devotion of the Mother, the true god, the author of all Creation and would be hospitable and devoted enough to receive her venerable kindness, warmest embraces and softest touches. Had you never known true love you would know it when you see, hear, touch, taste and feel it not to mention sense, intuit and imagine it. For once felt it cannot be mistaken for its counterfeit, the bride Death, the Babylonian whore, Ishtar, the painted moon, the pretend virgin, with painted cheek, scarlet neck and terracotta skin. Do not be taken in by the Magdalene, the false queen, the painted princess, the artful seductress and venial threat to all that is holy and whole. Be true to thy self in being true to thy love and thou shalt never stray or go astray. Take your cue from the Mother, who has remained as true to the Father throughout the ages as the filially pious first born male that mourns for three years at the gravesite of his beloved. Have the resolve to be thyself and to choose the mate for which one was intended, thy companion bride, thy twin flame, thy mated soul, thy wedded kin. Embrace thy true fate and explore the wonders of amour, the love dalliances and cosmic play of Krishna and Radha who reinvent Creation with every kiss, nuzzle, cuddle, embrace and comingling. Find your own Vrindaven, the love garden of the true god, the Mother of all Creation and recreation, all birth and rebirth, all erection and resurrection. To thine own self be true in the truth of thy love and thou will have found the secret of Creation, the mysteries of the universe and the clavis that opens the Gates of Paradise.


 

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