Listen closely, all of this I'm whispering.
Why do I fall in love with you?
What is it that lights my way as I tumble out of control behind your eyes?
In that single, flashing moment, what is it that lets me in?
What is it that makes me fall in love with you?
Well, the answer’s easy.
It's obvious—it needs no thought or consideration.
It's startling and heady, but at the same time it's plain and simple.
Here, I'll tell you, still in a whisper.
So listen carefully.
I want you to know exactly what I think, as I think it.
I want you to feel that I’m whispering it to you, so that you hear it directly.
I want you to know of nothing between my mind and yours.
I want you to know it as I know it.
And so I whisper this in the way that I would whisper my loving secrets to you in our lovemaking.
So, here it is.
I fall in love of you because of something else.
Yes, something else.
But it’ a something else that only adds, for not only is falling in love with you part of you and me, it's also part of something else—it’s falling in love and more, falling in love with and because of more.
So what is this something else?
Come closer.
It's a moment of knowing, a moment of being.
But a strange form of knowing, and a strange form of being, for it's the recognition of something more than we can ever know in itself, it's the recognition of something of which we can only ever get a fleeting taste.
And then only because it’s known in the form of one thing and something else—we could not know it in its pure form, but mixed with our experience of it as something else we know as much of it as is possible.
But still it's a knowing.
Let me describe it.
It's a whisper when the words aren't understood, but the whisper is still heard.
It's the touch that feels warmer than it should, and yet cannot be warmer than it is.
It's the sense of tingling closeness that emanates from something other than within but that affects within.
It's a fragment, a shard, a splinter of that which is being—a fragment, a shard, a splinter of reality.
Yes, reality—reality is what it is.
Can you imagine that?
Reality.
There is nothing more beyond reality—it is the ultimate quality.
Reality.
Unattainable reality.
And yet, when I fall in love with you, I can know something of it.
A shard of it, at least, broken from its central core and gifted to me as it lives in my perception for one sparkling, dizzying, bursting, crashing, instant of mesmerizing existence—a momentary knowing of that which is real; a hint of the ultimate; mesmerizing.
And it can happen again, and again, and each time it becomes more certain as its trail is inscribed deeper and made more known, as its nature is known, as its intention to forge us together is known.
Intention?
Reality and intention?
Can reality have intention?
Yes, it can.
It can be encouraged by the lure of our perceptions of each other—it’s susceptible to our desire.
It recognizes the quality that it is—love.
But also it has its own purpose.
Yes, it has an intention of its own.
Falling in love—the perfect moment of the real.
Falling in love—when the real is perfectly known.
This purposeful reality wants to stun us with its presence—it wants to make itself known to us with a crash, it wants us to know with certainty that something exists that is beyond—that there is reality beyond; it graces us with a visit from the reality beyond.
And after that?
After this blazing blast of the real has burst through and knocked us sideways then left, and its affect has dissipated?
What then?
What remains?
Are we just left scorched by it?
Are we just husks flailing, and wondering, and gasping breathlessly to recover ourselves?
Are we just burned up and injured, or at best mystified, tantalized and dazed by that which leaves us as quickly as it came?
No, it is not that cruel—reality is the kindest of things.
Reality is the essence of love, and it brings us its fragrance when we fall in love.
Reality then leaves us a world coloured by the beyond, a world that shares in the glow that it has bestowed and left behind.
And so now, under its influence, benefitting from its loving affect, I can ask why am I in love with you?
And this is not because of something else—it is only because of you.
Keep listening, I will tell you the answer.
And I need to tell you the answer because the answer is connected to what we know in the world; and we can only know this now because we have felt the light of the reality of love.
And this is what we have in our world, the world of experience and perception, of each other, of sharing and of closely knowing.
What follows this shock of the fall—this fall into love, this blast of the loving real—is an opportunity to know a different world in our world.
Imagine!
To know a different world in our world, to know the beyond within.
What a gift this spike of the real has brought in its train—there can surely be no greater.
The path has been lit up for us and now it's forever there.
Now we can walk along it, wherever it takes us, there is no fear now; our way will always be lit by the permanent afterglow of the real.
It is so beautiful.
Now we can be in love.
Now I can say “I am in love with you.”
And I am in love with you because I have fallen in love with you.
But I am in love with you for different reasons than the falling ways, and in different ways than the falling ways.
These are the reasons of the perceiving world, and the ways of the within world.
I am in love with you because now I can see you as the one I have fallen in love with.
I can see you clearly—you are in the light of reality.
I am in love with you, and what you are because you are lit up by the loving glow of reality.
And these things of you have been highlighted and brightened for me, and now I see them as they emanate from you: as sometimes they gleam, as sometimes they flash, as sometimes their brilliance takes me unawares.
And what are they, these things, these gleaming, flashing, brilliant things?
They make a strange list, these wonderful things, mixed up by the perception of it all, and the perceptions that constitute it all, and the often randomness of it all.
And these things I can whisper to you as well, in the same way as when you can only feel my breath at your ear, and you know what I'm saying in your mind, or when you inhale my breath as our lips touch each other and refuse to part.
Listen closely, breathe in my breath.
They are your vulnerability, and your delectable, fragile absence.
And those things make me want to care for you, and wrap you up in my arms, and curl you up on my lap, and make you safe, and keep you safe.
And they are your insight, and delicate caring, and ways of seeing beyond, and your knowing, and your purpose.
And all those things make me want to be known by you, to be safe because of you, to be assured by your knowing presence, and directed by your purpose.
And also they are your suspicion and fear of exposure to the world.
And those things make me want to teach you that your place in the world should be of calm assurance, and noticeability of the best sort because you should have no fear,
And they are your surrender and giving, and your disinhibiting calmness, and kindness, and sweet caring—a mixture of contrasts sometimes.
And those things make me care the more for you, and give me a sense of happiness.
And they are your bobbing and touching, and your nod, and your lovemaking, and your phrases of endearment that escape you with such sincere and meaningful depth.
And those things I revel in, and in my mind I drop to my knees in the receipt of them.
And all those things fetch me into you, and I am in love with you because of them.
And when at those times I open my eyes to you, and again I fall in love with you, and I revel in the breaking in of the reality of it, and the opportunity again to be in love with what its glow from beyond enables—to be in love with you; and so it is.
