Left stagnant with only bloodless ambition, the heart longs
not for things to weigh down a shelf or fill a house but rather the embrace of
a loved one, to look into another’s eyes with love and to see love reflected
back, to embrace another in weak arms--to find those very same weak arms become
strong by holding up another when weak. Strength rests in the heart and spreads
through the rest of the body, growing from tiny seeds. The will to
love must be as strong as only love is or the drive to reach beyond doing and
into the realm of being will never be realized, and love must be realized or it
is not love at all but a wish. And needs to be loved. In this way, love is not one thing but two--it is a
substance that lives only by the process of being spent on others—and it is the
action of being spent on others. You can’t weigh it except in the heart; if we try
to weigh love in big thoughts, our mental scale will topple down on itself and
only reveal the fact that we can’t know love in our heads. We can only know it our
minds that we can only know it in our hearts.
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