Moving deeply in love, we might notice a sense of incompleteness, that something is missing. Love flows. The paradox is while it's flowing it's always in the now. It's a process, not a state. We can't grasp and hold it. It emerges from our being, flowing like fragrance floats on a warm summer's day; just out of the blue, unsusceptible to manipulation of any kind. It is never complete, always flowing but with no purpose, no goal. It just is. It's insubstantiality is what gives it it's sweetness.
Deep love is flowing, always passing like a river. It has both joy and heartbreak in it. That's what gives it depth and richness. It is like a real rose as opposed to a plastic one. We can make a plastic rose but no one can make a real rose, nor can anyone keep one in a static state. A rose is an uncontainable miracle, a process that cannot be held on to. It moves on despite our efforts to hold it in place, keep it as it is, keep the tender petals from withering and returning to the source. When we return to the source, when we dissolve in the presence of the rose, we don't know who we are and we don't know what this miracle is filling the view. When we dissolve in the presence of love, we don't know what this bliss is filling our heart.
In the presence of a flower we realize our own fleeting nature as form -- just a few hours dancing in the breeze, in the sunlight, releasing our fragrance, our song. We can learn from the rose, opening its petals with a primordial courage, not trying to hold them closed out of fear of what may come after blossoming, not anxious about an imaginary future. The rose embodies wisdom. When it's time to fall, it falls willingly, with an exquisite grace and nobility. In full flower, dancing in the sun, we share its happiness. When it falls, we're sad. Through this being, we're shown our own impermanence and the impermanence of love. It's a process. We want to hold onto the peak, thinking that this fragrant blossom is the ultimate, and we cling, trying to hold on to the moment: the light, the dazzling beauty, the lovely dance, the sweet fragrance in the air. We want to preserve the moment, perhaps capture this flower in a block of clear plastic. But what we end up with is a dead, preserved flower.
Let the flowers in life flow. Celebrate these blossoms when they emerge and when they fall. They are showering on us now. Do not hold on to them and more will come. Holding on, they dry up anyway; the aliveness, the freshness dries up. Reading Meredith's passage we can feel the river of love, the flowing to ever higher peaks of love. Releasing our love brings these higher peaks. And the process is endless, never complete. Our living, our love is always incomplete and imperfect. Just like the rose in the garden, yes? Allowing love to move and flow has it go on and on. Love is inherent in who we are already.
When we find ourselves in the presence of this love, this divine fragrance Meredith is pointing at, we can remember the space. We can allow ourselves to move in the direction of that fragrance, to move in the vicinity of that sweet music. The music of love is playing softly, subtly, right at this moment. It is just covered over with a lot of noise. Letting that extraneous noise subside, we hear the sweet music of love in the air all around us.