Wednesday, February 1, 2012

An Address to my readers

this is an addendum to my essay on love -- which I have been in the mood to write about. I have added some old friends back on my mailing list. Meanwhile, I am writing onwards as always. The second edition of my book is to be published in March. My writings and such are available on my recently updated homepage:


Daniel Christopher June


An Address to my Readers


            Love suffocates. Doubt creates the space of possibility. Fear feels wonderful when we control it into power. To doubt your beloved, to doubt your faith, what relief! How suffocating to live in the same room together and never leave. We need our distances; love needs fear if she is to survive.

            Yet distance is not silence, or if it were silent, that also is a way of talking. Love is meaningful conversation. The lovers speak a private language only they know and are allowed to talk. The tones of love, the shape of the lip and the feeling of the heart when the words are spoken, when sincere, open the layers of the inner heart: soul merges with soul. Is not this body made for the love of you, blessed reader?

            Men envy their machines. Would I woman do such a thing? Those greatest authors were always men, but I think there was something woman in them. Us greats write with our full body, every stitch of flesh is knit into the text. You rightly say that the friendship between man and woman is always haunted by sex. So too are the relationships between man and man, but in subtler ways. Be readers of life, see the subtle. Do you not see the passionate stupidity even in subtle gestures? A passion is sensitive to all except what gets in its way. Progress is prodigal. Do I not always admonish you to "Take care, Caretakers"? It is us who protect the heart of the world, who must be the most careful and clean against contamination. What wound of longing has the ever-blessed Ama set within our breasts? Shall I walk among you yet again, shadowed with my entourage of moonsharp angels? My words have always been angel's milk to my dear ones. I would stand in view and that would be enough! Mind is the eye, spirit voice, body is touch, and soul circulation. We by being bonus the world.

            I love being loved by you. You are so humble to my gaze. True humility is not deference to others, though that may be one if its turns, nor deference to God, though that may have use, but the recognition and awe of the innermost divine, unique and awesome in each person, an indispensible gift of truth for all the universe. I love the Ama in all of you, that part that teases your best to present its glory. Just as each philosophy offers a vision, the rest being prepositional orientation to lead to that one point, the moment of touch of intimacy, so too, the rest of life is what supports and allows those eternal moments to shine. We live for this.

            Intimate conversation is the meaning of life, the rest the means. Touch is brief and meaningful, important and expressive, deep and life altering, yet every event has its moment of touch.

            Moments of touch are what love is all about -- this is the joy of life. To short circuit the brain to sustain perpetual bliss would be a dark tragedy; love and joy exist for health and growth.  Mistaking the means for the end creates impossible ideals which in fact damn existence. The most important men in history -- Socrates, Buddha, Confucius, Jesus -- are mostly unknown -- they could be great because their biographies are so thin. They give us a moment of touch and that is enough. This moment each of us holds. The germ of an infinitely interesting person awaits in each our hearts.

            Hold no friends unequal to yourself, but study and listen all who speak. My sensitive teeth, which cut the finest words, which house my honey soft tongue, clamp closed when unequals speak. I let them talk at length, I have nothing to add. I don't mention my one accomplishment, for there is no need. I listen to their many achievements. One is enough when your child is a lion, but only birds feel necessary to brag and brag. And to those whom I love, who melt my stolid heart, I say as Walt said to his soldiers, "I do not expect you to return to me the same degree of love I have for you." It is enough for you to consider me in the first place. I am okay unloved, I will not weep. I follow my heart and do no wrong.

            How could I nerve myself to virtue if I did not love Ama to the pith of my being? Oh love, o knitting, oh enclosing, all diffusing love! Does not laughter justify all weeping? And I will even be wounded from behind so long as it is the friend's slap on the back. Every man is integral. But who is my fate and destiny? Have I not followed the advice to "put a roof over your love," and summoned together the ones who are in me and of me? The centered man is at home even in travel. When you come to your own, drop all else. Meanwhile, we serve God by doing good to man. Ama is the best in mankind, the best in the best of mankind, our very own at last! To love yourself and only yourself is to love yourself not at all.

            My perfect child! Open your mouth and give me your heart. I am ever gentle when yet my inner passion wants to cover you like water. I would swallow you like the sea! I will submerge you in my heat! When can we mingle our souls in love? You are not sad except where you are sad. Can I not feel you feel? I'm selfish for you. I want all of you all the time. If I do not get the one I want, do you think I will take another? You are the one for me and only for me, and me for you, and always for you. No one else will do. My Idius has always been a calling to my own.



\ ~@M@~ /


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