Being In Love is No Place to Get

Love is somewhere to be.

Being in Love is nowhere to get. Journeying to love is a beingness outside of love.

Love is somewhere to be. I cannot get there. Seeing myself trying to get there is seeing my opportunity to choose to be there. Wanting is what I do when I am not choosing. When I choose, I exit wanting and receive.

The path back to love, where I find I’m journeying to love, is founded on the idea “something is wrong here.” This is the only “sin,” and it sends me to hell right here, right now. It is a “sin” to exit the beingness of love, because being outside of love is hell. It is hell purely from my own perspective, my own experience. It costs me everything of value available to me right now. It costs the world nothing.

Sin is not about doing wrong to others—others are their own responsibility. Sin is about the way I destroy my own access to the love that is right now.

Believing something is wrong here, I begin to explain myself. I attempt to tolerate what’s happening and “try” to love someone. I look to where I can sacrifice to make things right again. I spin out about why what’s wrong is wrong, why it feels so bad, why it’s happening to me. I attempt to convince others about what is wrong here and how we can control reality, either in collaboration with them or with my attempts at controlling them.

Being in Love, I am intimate with truth. I am here in reality, here for what is happening. If something appears to be wrong, I can be intimate with that as my personal experience and allow the dissonance to be exactly as it is. Settled that there is no emergency that requires my attention, I widen my perspective—where is love in this moment, and how do I choose it for myself?

Every moment has infinite opportunities to choose love. I can start with my body. I can feel what feels good about my body, the breath in my lungs, my posture, my clothes against my skin. Someone can be screaming in my face, and this is available to me (ask me how I know).

It is for me to sing the tone of love, in that it is to my benefit and it is my personal responsibility. Love is not a form of calm, a poise of restraint, a rigid, stagnant stance; it is the pulse of truth, the texture of honesty as it dances through the world. Peace is infinitely nuanced, infinitely expressed.

Love is a rhythm with infinite variation, and I am either tuned-in or tuning-in. The only crime is to violate my experience, and the punishment is complete and finite without any further ado.