Some pieces escape the mind and become a body – they grow their eyes and ears and mouths and a heartbeat – a song that does not die – an undefined breath.
This is one of them.
On a night coloured with no stars, love is light and blood. Because we think blood is red, we think the heart is red and call love red too. And so on a day of a love, we wear red, stitching our jubilation to bottles of wine, bottles of red, bottles of love.
For all of us with white hearts, love is still red, still blood. The Holy Communion’s wine is the blood of the lamb slain that we may have light in every vein. An undefined breath. A song that does not die.
Love is bleeding, not a feeling. The lamb bore a cross for all, even for those who did not know his name. Do the same. Wear crosses on the back, not the tongue. Love is a story that does not miss the reader’s eye, the neighbour’s eye.
Love is bleeding, not burning. I do not need to burn my fingers to love, to do what has been done, I’m God’s fingerprint. God is a miracle, so am I. God is a big sky, so am I. Big skies don’t obey the law of gravity. I obey the royal law of love that does not bind my neck to the ground – it holds me to the sky – where stars see my light and call me God.