What is required of life but this:
that we love.
Again and again.

Not out of duty or moral pressure—
but because something larger than us
moves through the human heart
and asks to be given form.

What might be possible
if we answered that call?

We wonder how love endures
when people collide and surfaces splinter,
laying bare the fragile scaffolds
we mistook for strength—
when confusion rises at every turn,
when human nature feels
like a puzzle missing half its pieces.

But maybe it isn’t a maze—
only a hall of mirrors
revealing what we’ve shunted aside
to preserve the comfort of illusion.

Each of us carries a fragment
of the One,
and what we recoil from in others
is often the orphaned piece
we’ve hidden from ourselves.

Anger begins in unforgiveness—
a burden each soul shoulders
before it ever understands the cost,
or how the flame turns inward, in the end.

In some, it hardens into a fortress:
solid, towering, impenetrable.
In others, it flickers only briefly—
a flash of heat, spent
almost at the instant of its birth.

Authentic love is different.
It widens,
expansive as the night sky
arching above the mind’s darker stories.

If the stars could speak,
they would remind us
that the soul is larger
than any human longing
or human fear.

In this dance of living,
our steps are our own—
that is the gift of agency.

But imagine,
just for a breath,
what might unfold
if we set down
what we think we need,
what we think we must protect,
what others insist
we should carry—

and braided our light together
into a single, pulsing network
so vast it would make the Milky Way
seem like a thin veil beneath our feet
as we whirl in multicolored skirts,
dervish-dancing across a universe
that has been waiting for us
to remember
what love can do.

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