{"id":18279,"date":"2018-02-08T01:00:45","date_gmt":"2018-02-08T09:00:45","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.patheos.com\/blogs\/monkeymind\/?p=18279"},"modified":"2018-02-07T19:07:23","modified_gmt":"2018-02-08T03:07:23","slug":"what-more-can-we-want","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.patheos.com\/blogs\/monkeymind\/2018\/02\/what-more-can-we-want.html","title":{"rendered":"My Zen Life: Nothing Between the Nameless & the Named: What More Can We Want?"},"content":{"rendered":"\n<\/head>

\"\"<\/a>
\nI was talking with a friend about love.<\/p>\n

Is love God? Is God love? Two questions. Each opens rather different doors.<\/p>\n

We were not in complete accord. But, then, how else should it be?<\/p>\n

That mystery is the sum of our experience. Love. Sex. Friendship. Family. That Divine Mystery. All of it. All of it swirling, tangling, untangling. Presenting. Found. Forgotten. Present. A vague intimation. Mysterious. Difficult. Always present. Always. Hard. Hard.<\/p>\n

The master sings into our hearts:<\/p>\n

The light came through the window
\nStraight from the sun above
\nAnd so inside my little room
\nThere plunged the rays of love
\nIn streams of light I clearly saw
\nThe dust you seldom see,
\nOut of which the nameless makes
\nA name for one like me
\nI\u2019ll try to say a little more
\nLove went on and on
\nUntil it reached an open door
\nThen love itself
\nLove itself was gone
\nAll busy in the sunlight
\nThe flecks did float and dance
\nAnd I was tumbled up with them
\nIn formless circumstance
\nI\u2019ll try to say a little more
\nLove went on and on
\nUntil it reached an open door
\nThen love itself
\nLove itself was gone
\nThen I came back from where I\u2019d been
\nMy room, it looked the same
\nBut there was nothing left between
\nThe nameless and the name
\nAll busy in the sunlight
\nThe flecks did float and dance
\nAnd I was tumbled up with them
\nIn formless circumstance
\nI\u2019ll try to say a little more
\nLove went on and on
\nUntil it reached an open door
\nThen love itself
\nLove itself was gone
\nLove itself
\nLove itself was gone<\/em><\/p>\n

And, of course, an echo remains. A hint. Half of a memory.<\/p>\n

And, that for me, that echo, that half of a memory, is in fact the whole of it.<\/p>\n

So hard.<\/p>\n

So terrible.<\/p>\n

So sweet.<\/p>\n

So lovely\u2026<\/p>\n

Nothing between the Nameless & the Named.<\/p>\n

Now, how can I do anything but stand before that lord of song and raise my trembling broken voice and sing my hallelujah?<\/p>\n

It is a song to love itself\u2026<\/p>\n