The Power of Tenderness

Love is the act of holding tenderly. Love is where the wave meets the shore, where the wound meets (generally in darkness, but sometimes, with gentle attention, in the clear light of day) the grace which holds it. I am broken says the wound. You were never broken says the grace. I will flail and flail and end in the grave, says the wound. You are held by what has not been born and can never die says the grace. But I was born! I will die! shouts the wound. Wait, says the grace. Wait. Feel my arms around you? Inside you? You are inseparable from me. Your pain is only an expression of me. You are my desire to return to myself. The soul’s desire for the soul. Grace’s desire to be one with grace. What could be more beautiful than that? You are the whole galaxy whispering, hold me, hold me. You are the spark from which the universe unfurls. You, wound, have not only never been lost but are also the route home.