Love Letter 8

It happens all the time. You open Torah and it lights up in your hands; that only happens because your hands are charged with the Spirit who expands the love in our hearts. You carry the pain of a generation and rather than recoiling from the horror, you only want to learn how we might love more. You have challenged me to become more of what is really me. It was you who told me to write these letters. It was worded as a suggestion I know, but it’s not really a suggestion when it comes from you, in that kind of moment anyway. No, it was more of an instruction, an instruction from one I trust to point the way towards what is Spirit’s next move within me. I don’t accept teachers easily; why would I open to you? My Uncle Richard said once that I have a finely tuned crap detector; it’s my spiritual gift. It just doesn’t go off when I listen to you . . . ever. That’s partly because the truth of what you teach is born in the crucible of outrageous pain. God that is too damn rare. In a world filled with outrageous pain teaching that can’t address it is useless. It’s partly because it is soaked in the thousands of years old conversation that forms us both. But it has more to do with my trust that if you saw you’d been wrong all these years about all these things you’ve been teaching, you would enter your study, open your heart and demand of Spirit a deeper truth still. You never forget why we are doing this. This love letter is not “wild and unbridled” like you. No, it’s more like me; it runs deep so deep that I can only point to the love through the things that mean most to me, that make me who I am. How could I not love you when you call from me the greatest love I’ve known?

I love you,

Sam