I have fallen. Deeper. Into my body. Into love.

I had to be shown the way, finally. I had forgotten. How to love. How to hold. How to honor. And worship.

Some days, I am in love with everything and everyone and myself too. But, the days I do not love everything and everyone, I am intensely aware I am out of balance and need to get back in love.

Once you know how to love, you cannot stop. You cannot forget. You must have it again. Once you love yourself, you know you will love and love again and because you have to.

I am a witness, a sole, solitary (lonely sometimes) witness to my life, its miracle, its unfolding, its complexity.

I fell this year and I have accepted its punctured beauty, its skewed perfection, its deep meaning felt only by me.

I have fallen, fallen deep into my life’s essence, a vitality which courses through me with subtle gyration, sometimes, and, at others, with frightening abandon.

I have let go of my childish love, my immature, attached way of loving… my conditional love.  My son helped me. I have loved him so deeply and I have held him so tight and I have loved him even as I let him go too. As he drifts into adulthood, I realize I cannot do more than my love.

Floating in the pool, my swim suit echoes around my my body, too big, though it fit last year. My body is so small now, compared to 17 years ago, but I’ve learned it has its own perfect size.  It knows, and has always known, where it was going.

I feel the deep pleasure of acceptance, and the lusciousness of gratitude too. It’s always lovely to float in water or acceptance, either will do.

As the years progress, I see I’m the only witness to it. I’m the only one who knows, if I hadn’t made changes, I’d be dead. Was dead, or dying.  Certainly was dead to love. To myself.

But that is no longer true.

My future will be marked by more and more opening, more falling, more love. Because, once you know how to love, you cannot stop.