This morning I woke with a Barry White song in my head, and thoughts full of love. ­čÖé It’s a nice way to begin the day. I slept in, too, hours later than I typically do. I woke slowly. Yoga…meditation…walk…coffee… it’s a beautiful morning. I smile at myself cruising along powered by love, a seemingly limitless fuel from the perspective of this moment, right here. ­čÖé

Love matters most.

Love matters most.

I put on my favorite ‘sexy romantic’ playlist of love songs. It feels like that sort of day. I’ll see my traveling partner again tonight – I never tire of his warmth, his touch, his smile, his words. On my worst days, he can be such a calming presence. On my best days, he is pure joy. Sure, still human – aren’t we all? Our relationship is emotionally reciprocal on a level I find hard to describe. Is it enough to say that I return the favor – the love, the appreciation, the calming support – at every opportunity? (Depending on specifics, with greater or less skill – my results vary. Don’t yours?)

Love is reciprocal.

Love is reciprocal.

I sing love songs while I get laundry started. I realize with surprise that I’d wandered away from my writing without any particular awareness of being distracted by something else. I’m still smiling. Love tends to be somewhat distracting. lol

Love doesn't watch the clock.

Love doesn’t watch the clock.

I write today with new awareness of a pleasant bit of change; I feel love and I feel loved, and these feelings are not specifically dependent on today’s circumstances. They’re feelings. I have them. Some days I have them with similar intensity and a comfortably warm, merry glow, in spite of the circumstances of the day itself being fairly stressful or crappy in some way. Some days I feel love and I feel loved, even though I haven’t seen my partner, haven’t felt human touch, or interacted intimately with another human being, in days; today this seems very significant, if not understanding the experience┬áthen at least being aware of it, and valuing it. Today another puzzle piece drops into place, and I feel freed from some other bit of baggage – that bit that suggests love and being loved are dependent on circumstance, or the whims and moods of another. This morning it doesn’t feel that way at all; I am love, and my love is right here – to be accepted, to be returned or returned to, to be enjoyed, to be shared, to be savored, but it can’t be taken from me, or regulated, managed, parceled out, bought or sold, limited, or even destroyed. It’s mine.

Getting here was a journey - it is a journey to sustain love, too; there are verbs involved.

Getting here was a journey – it is a journey to sustain love, too; there are verbs involved.

The love songs have got me, this morning. I celebrate love. I want to shout “I get it now!” in some dramatic moment of hollywood-styled scripted enlightenment. I laugh tenderly and with genuine amusement at the woman in the mirror, recognizing that one element of my experience with my TBI is how completely unreliable my recognition of novelty is – maybe I’ve had this moment of recognition before? I’m okay even with that – how wonderful to recognize the mechanics of love, even for a moment?

Love is in the small things - strange for such a big deal.

Love is in the small things – strange for such a big deal.

I chuckle when I look back on what I’ve written so far this morning, and wonder if I am able to make any real sense on such an emotional topic when I’m immersed in it? I sip my coffee contentedly and note that the laundry will be finished soon…my ‘to do list’ this morning is a short one, and most of the day will be spent on study and meditation, until my partner┬áreturns to my doorstep, later. ­čÖé Today is a good day to be love.

Love.

Love.