He flinches to her touch, withdrawing in to his own self-imposed cave. He never intended to show fear, but it’s too late, he’s already opened the doorway to a soul he was hoping to hide and now lies perilously in the grip of the light of truth, to blinding to see clearly.

She nervously accepts his reserve, forever storing his hesitation as a boundary to what she can give. He draws her near, she now pulls away to the new metric of limitation to her full expression of the love she is permitted to show, to give to a heart that is now deemed unsafe.

So is the way of love. We outreach a hand to feeble for the fullness of it’s grip. We pursue, we withdraw, we hide and so goes the games-of-love. Like watching a competitive match at Wimbledon, bystanders witness two souls so ready for this divine encounter of love and our necks stiffen from swaying right and left, caught up in the peril of who’s going to mess up, who will win match-point, spike the ball, rush the net or otherwise turn the game into a score card of empty points and drowning memories.

Why is love so fucking complicated? No, why do we MAKE love so problematic? It’s sad…I. Am. Sad.

Two people, caught up in an energy that seems to transcend them both. Like riding a wave, all they must do is accept the ocean’s energy and go with it, yet somehow we think a motor, a rudder and a paddle will give us the needed edge to control the uncontrollable. We fucked it up.

Osho said it best. “If you meditate long enough, you’ll run into love.” Not you will FALL in love, CHOOSE love or BE love…you’ll run IN to it, as if love is a noun, something tangible and clearly defined.

Yet the prevailing blanket of shame is ever present. Yes, shame…the transparent veil of dual identities, false masks and secret identities with licenses to kill that even Bond, James Bond would rival. Damn you 007, you emotionally unavailable rouge you!

We hide. We cajole. We create energetic falseness in others and step proudly back in arrogance to point fingers in the failures of our partners like high-paid attorneys cunning in the art of deceptive misleading. All the while, none of us are innocent. We are all guilty. The joke is on us all.

Yet, there exists a mist of hope. Like a fog rolling in from the bay, blanketing our shores, there looms a sense of rightness that is eager to steady the sails and guide us back to shore.

In the detour of the path to our own truth, there stands LOVE, a loyal and pure defense to the merciless judge eager to deem us guilty and seal our fate into the prisons of solitude. LOVE rises to defend, to heal and fight the darkness of shame, to bring us back to the light, to embody forgiveness and try one more time. Just one. more. time.

Shame versus Love.  We are at war my friends. The grand battle within our hearts to act in a manner worthy of a universal creative force so powerful it cascades upon us like warm showers on cold nights, like nourishment in hungry times and quenches the thirstiness of the dryness we carry.

We…are love. It’s just who we are. There isn’t a choice, we always return no matter how prodigal we’ve been, we’re embraced back into this state by an unquestioning father happy only that we’ve returned. He cares not of our misdeeds, our poor spending or our immoral acts of shame, only…that we have returned.

Our practice of love.  It is our weakness, and…our greatest strength.

Just. Love.

aka: Love Gangster