"Like the sun."
Thoughts on love.
“Even after all this time the sun never says to the earth, ‘You owe me.’ Look what happens with a love like that. It lights the whole sky.” — Persian poet Hafiz (born Khwāja Šamsu d-Dīn Muḥammad Hāfez-e Šīrāzī), 1315-1390
MAY 19— I first heard Hafiz’s poem two weeks ago, on a morning when I doubted my ability to love. Animated and set loose by the person reciting it, the poem flew like an arrow straight into my already aching heart.
I thought:
My love does not light the whole sky. It is an imperfect love. A human love. It is a love bound up with ego and desire and far too much ledger-keeping. It is a sun obscured by clouds.
And then I saw:
It is all the more miraculous, for being imperfect—all the more miraculous when it shines.
Reconsidering, I decided:
My love is not imperfect. Because love is perfect. Love is a flawless light shining through all of us. Love is not my problem. Doubt is.
Finally, I wondered:
The sun doesn’t hesitate to shine.
Why do I hesitate to love?
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