Amour

Etre en etat d'amour est un etrange phenomene. So much has been written on it, yet, when it happens to you, you cannot resist to try and fathom this 'etat d'ame' as if it was suddenly felt for the first time.
To be in love is to be under unfluence. Drug or alcohol would be the obvious comparison but with Love, the miracle is : where does it come from ?
What strange, sublime chemistry suddenly set it off when meeting that one person ?
Yes up to a point the effects are very comparable to drug or alcohol. But only up to a point. Love is a self sourced feeling. It oblirates everything else.
It is a Tyrant, a despote, nothing else matters, nothing else quite exists.
What is not the object of love regress into a dull, boring, grey background, to be dealt with the least possible. Only our love brings colours and life around.
It is a condition. an illness. An 'etat de grace' et d'agonie. A torment and a folly. Bliss and misery. Yet it is a magic rebirth.
When in love suddenly, one perceives life in a new way, deeper meanings are reached easily. Inner doors are re-opened. The blood runs quicker, the heart beats faster, and the mind races to the essence of things.
One becomes a living flame. Passing through the sacred fire of love , one is bleached and exalted like a transfigured Christ. One ressuscitates into a new life. All at once beautiful and terrifying. A life of extremes, excesses and absoluteness.
Nothing can compare to that most unique experience.
No other madness, no other passion can come close to the passion one can feel for another human being.
Yet, one day, it breaks like a fragile crystal glass, it breaks into a milion little pieces and is reduced to dust. Vanished from the world in a whisper. Why ? no explanation, if God moves in mysterious ways, then Love moves even more mysteriously.
When one loves one is wounded.
One becomes open, cracked, and very frail. A slight movement can be perceived as a blow.
To be in love is to be in a state of permanent prayer, kneeling at the altar of the Beloved.
Not a good position to be in. Not to be wished for.
Yet without this inner wound, one would never understand anything and would remain at the surface of the world. One would stay blind, deaf and mute.
To love is to know why flowers bloom, why the planets whirl in space, why the wind in spring feels so fresh, why the rushing water changes into a torrent at the top of mountains, why wild horses galllop at full speed for no reason in the plain of their freedom, pour rien, pour le geste, pour la beaute de l'instant. And to know why a smile can save the world. To be in love is the Beauty we are all destined for, but avoid carefully because of its twin : suffering.
There is no happy love. There is only the most intrepid experience.
Love is always doomed from the start. A beautiful animal soon entrapped.
A butterfly soon caught in the net of reality.