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Deeper than Love




There is love, and it is a deep thing

but there are deeper things than love.



First and last, man is alone.

He is born alone, and alone he dies

and alone he is while he lives, in his deepest self.



Love, like the flowers, is life, growing.

But underneath are the deep rocks, the living rock that lives

alone

and deeper still the unknown fire, unknown and heavy, heavy

and alone.



Love is a thing of twoness.

But underneath any twoness, man is alone.

And underneath the great turbulent emotions of love, the

violent herbage,

lies the living rock of a single creature's pride,

the dark, naive pride.

And deeper even than the bedrock of pride

lies the ponderous fire of naked life

with its strange primordial consciousness of justice

and its primordial consciousness of connection,

connection with still deeper, still more terrible life-fire

and the old, old final life-truth.








Love is of twoness, and is lovely

like the living life on the earth

but below all roots of love lies the bedrock of naked pride,

subterranean,

and deeper than the bedrock of pride is the primordial fire of

the middle

which rests in connection with the further forever unknowable

fire of all things

and which rocks with a sense of connection, religion

and trembles with a sense of truth, primordial consciousness

and is silent with a sense of justice, the fiery primordial

imperative.







All this is deeper than love

deeper than love.

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Whether we write or speak or do but look

We are ever unapparent. What we are

Cannot be transfused into word or book,

Our soul from us is infinitely far.

However much we give our thoughts the will

To be our soul and gesture it abroad,

Our hearts are incommunicable still.

In what we show ourselves we are ignored.

The abyss from soul to soul cannot be bridged

By any skill of thought or trick of seeming.

Unto our very selves we are abridged

When we would utter to our thought our being.

We are our dreams of ourselves souls by gleams,

And each to each other dreams of others' dreams.

Fernando Pessoa

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All through eternity

Beauty unveils His exquisite form

in the solitude of nothingness;

He holds a mirror to His Face

and beholds His own beauty.

he is the knower and the known,

the seer and the seen;

No eye but His own

has ever looked upon this Universe.

His every quality finds an expression:

Eternity becomes the verdant field of Time and Space;

Love, the life-giving garden of this world.

Every branch and leaf and fruit

Reveals an aspect of His perfection-

They cypress give hint of His majesty,

The rose gives tidings of His beauty.

Whenever Beauty looks,

Love is also there;

Whenever beauty shows a rosy cheek

Love lights Her fire from that flame.

When beauty dwells in the dark folds of night

Love comes and finds a heart

entangled in tresses.

Beauty and Love are as body and soul.

Beauty is the mine, Love is the diamond.

They have together

since the beginning of time-

Side by side, step by step.

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The Moon, who is caprice itself, looked in through your window as you lay asleep in your cradle, and said:

 " This Child pleases me "

And downly descending her stairway of cloud, she passed through the window pane without a sound.

Then she streched herself over you with a mother´s careful tenderness, and left her colors on your face.
That is why your eyes are green and your cheeks extraordinarily pale. And it was when you looked at this visitor that your eyes grew so wondrously large;and she clasped your throat so tenderly that you have wanted to weep ever since.

At the same time, in the fulness of her joy, the Moon pervaded the whole room like a phosphoric atmosphere, like a luminous poison; and all that living radiance thought and said :

" By my kiss i make you eternally mine. You shall be beautiful as i am beautiful. You shall love what i love and what loves me :water, clouds, silence and the night;

the green unfathomable sea; water without form and multiform; the place where you are not;the lover you will never know; monstrous flowers;delirious perfume; languorous cats who lie on pianos and moan like women with sweet and husky voices!

"And you shall be loved by my lovers, courted by my courtiers. You shall be the queen of all men with green eyes, whose throats i have clasped in my nocturnal caresses; of those who love the sea, the green unfathomable, tumultuous sea; water without form and multi-form;

the place where they are not,the woman they will never know, sinister flowers like the censers of a strange religion, perfumes that trouble the will, savage and voluptuous beasts that are the emblems of their madness"

And this is why, dear, spoilt, accursed child, i am lying at your feet searching you all over for the reflection of the dread Goddess, the fateful godmother and poison-nurse of all lunatics

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The fact is, there is nothing that you can trust;

and that is a terrible fact, whether you like it or not.

Psychologically there is nothing in the world,

that you can put your faith, your trust,or your belief in.

Neither your gods, nor your science can save you,

can bring you psychological certainty;

and you have to accept that you can trust in absolutely nothing.

That is a scientific fact, as well as a psychological fact.

Because, your leaders – religious and political

– and your books – sacred and profane –

have all failed, and you are still confused,

in misery, in conflict.

So, that is an absolute,

undeniable

fact.