Love is not something I decide; it happens, it acquires a life all its own. It is not always attraction. It is not always obvious. It is not always reasonable. It IS. We discover it in some mysterious way. We might try to disguise it, forge it, forget it, or condemn it. The physical body has little to do with it. Love, once it has revealed itself escapes the rational order; it arises from infinity within and persists in eternity beyond in a sphere greater than ourselves.

The passage into love offers a mirror. It reveals Who you are and also what you appear to be. It hoists you up or it slams you down with inspiration or the devastating results of expectation. It comes filled with lessons that are never easy, sprayed with gifts too often overlooked. We see in another what we cannot see in ourselves, and we see ourselves through the other.

Mothers, sisters, friends, women co-workers… all remind us of the dangers and the comforts of being women among ourselves.

Fathers, brothers, lovers, friends, any male co-worker… all contribute to the challenge of being and becoming more of what we already are.

The rite of passage requires willingness to go deep into the differences that confront or challenge us, and beyond the shimmering veneer that masks its fathomless depths.

Then love arises to remind us of Who we have always been.

photograph: Barry Sheinkopf










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