Thanks to a beautiful reader, who I wrote this poem for, here's something you need to remember: love is here, even still. Even though {fill in the blank} happened, love is my name and my truth. And it's yours. It's here, now, always, and the only thing that's lost is your memory of it.

“It isn’t possible to love and part. You will wish that it was. You can transmute love, ignore it, muddle it, but you can never pull it out of you. I know by experience that the poets are right: love is eternal.” — E.M. Forster

What if love was enough, no matter what, because it was always here, regardless of how we felt about it?

What if, when we felt like love has left us or that the person we love left this world, it was only our perceived connection with love that has been dimmed, temporarily lost (though never really lost), tampered with?

In this sense, love is like a pool we're always swimming in, like the air that is always around us. Though we’re always “in it,” it is our connection to love that goes in and out like a radio station. It's this connection we should cultivate and nurture to consciously feel the love.

We're always basking in love, even when our connection is weak. That weakness is only a forgetfulness of the wisdom and support all around and within; we are, inherently, channels for and reflections of love.

“Love is a symbol of eternity. It wipes out all sense of time, destroying all memory of a beginning and all fear of an end.” — Madame de Staël

I wrote this poem in honor of a reader’s birthday, and she so graciously allowed me to share this poem with the world. The love that she is resembles the love that we each are.

Remembering: Love Is My Name

My life is a poem of infinite revisions—

Notes scribbled in the margins,

Stars next to what enlightens.

My life is mine, but

It is not mine.

My poetry is my own but, just the same,

Sourced from the Great Source.

My beloved rests in the supple

Unknown.

Only oneness echoes from my true name.

Scattered across these notes:

Love that I know, and 

Love I have yet to recall;

Fear awaiting revision;

Hope gleaming from every “single” star.

There is nothing to cast aside

Except the forgetfulness of

What is mine: the love

In which

I am swimming

At any given time.

This love needs no revision, for it is

Sourced from the Source that belongs

Only to itself.

This mirror I polish to better see

The Great Love that rests inside of me—

The same Love that I breathe.

I revise only to remember

My name.

. . .

Tell me: 

Which part of this poem did you need to read today?

Tell me in the comments. I read every single one, and I'd love to know!

With love… here and now, always,

Jen

P.S. Want a poem like this on your wall or desk, so you never forget how loved you are? Go visit my shop and pick your favorite.