Love Is There – prose by Paul Vincent Cannon

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“Love is an endless mystery, for it has nothing else to explain it.”  Rabindranath Tagore

Love Is There

I’m not sure that I can trace beginnings or endings. Once I thought I could, but now I’m not so certain. The dualities of childhood eventually and thankfully slipped away in youth, so that sharp lines and edges, defined density of colours, even surety of perception, all faded in time. To just be in the moment seemed out of reach, until the great letting go, to surrender to ebb and flow without fear or seeking reason was, in the end, the greatest of joys. Even now I don’t know why I was surprised every time love started or ended. But looking back, the question makes no sense. Starts and endings are merely endings and starts. You see love doesn’t start or end, it just is. Somehow I knew, know…

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