The Keenest of Longings

Often I find myself boasting and daydreaming amongst aspects of my soul that I was lucky to have known you.

Some see your outline, your picture, in much of what is found here. Men and women alike come to ask “Who is she?!” I say ‘Indeed, I cannot tell.’ I know not, and am fearful as to how to answer them without your wish. All that I can do now is transmit some of the frequency which pulsates from my heart when I long for you, or my eyes remember your shining face. I don’t know enough to answer aptly, I might never be able to, likely not with the rest of my moments remaining, with the little time we had together. Few lovers understand. They blame me and they go away in scorn. You sit still as a crystal in the depth of an unseen cave, God’s light somehow still finds it’s way in to reflect, reconnecting with a sacred energy.

I place tales, memories, and dreams of you into songs that can last, the secret gushes out from my heart. You sit still. They come again and ask “Tell me the meaning” I act dumb ‘Ah who knows what they mean.’ They smile and go away in utter confusion, and you sit there, still as the ocean on a night without any shaking, stirring, or wind, simply silence.

“We must not be surprised that that which excites the keenest of longings is without any form, even spiritual form, since the soul itself, when inflamed with love for it, puts off all the form which it had, even that which belongs to the spiritual world.”

- Plotinus

It’s from الله‎