mortal light

The balance of love is fluid and tolerant
- is patience and impatience and sighs.

The weight of a human is solid and welcome
- is grounding and lifting and wise.

So desperate to know are we - to understand - that we ourselves make up the balance. Without even trying. Without even thinking, rather. We can be so very trying. We usually are.

Human ambition: trying. Throwing stones at any impassable wall. We will understand. We will. Hand up. Leg up. We make each other obstacles. We will.

When you think you're being selfish (when you want to be, when you want to be *human*), just ask: how much am I loved?

And it's as much as you can imagine, of course. It's as much as you've known.

Your human weight balances itself.

It's a want, to be needed. It's a need, to be wanted.

Just as much as you can imagine. In itself, a delight, if you truly think. And then - just a little bit more than that. Because you'll never truly know.

Let yourself be surprised. Yes, all this, and heaven, too.