Singin' the Blues

I felt like crying last night. There's no goodness in this world. We put our hope in such false and temporary things.

It's a crisp autumn day in this neighbourhood. Out of my bedroom window beyond the porch I see a lush grandfather tree, its red-orange leaves melancholically swaying back and forth as they fall one by one. And in front of my window, a single deep-red rose sprouts from its bush and gently rocks with the wind. It has the look of a beauty neglected.

Topic of the Day: Love

Our guest speaker in this morning's service discussed one of life's greatest mysteries: Love. But he didn't speak of sexual love. Instead, he was interested in a love of profound depth and meaning. This is the mystery; not sexual love, which is rudimentary, common and cheap.

I see this love in the elderly man who visits his wife twice a day at the nursing home, although she lost her ability to speak three years ago and does not recognize him. Yet in these routine visits, he experiences some of the most precious expressions of love. Somehow, their two souls communicate. And to him she is still beautiful.

While visiting my former teacher this afternoon, we sat on the sofa in her studio and talked of life and then of love -- and then of life often becoming an obstacle to love. On one end of the sofa sat a woman with a vast, dignified and remarkable life journey, while I, young, wide-eyed and hopelessly idealistic, stared back at her. We sat in silence while she looked me in the eyes intensely and said with decisiveness,

"If it is love, then despite obstacles, go for it."

I never knew my teacher could be so uninhibited and romantic. Though after all, she did quit architecture to return to music; she does have the spirit of an artist. Even so, she'll be the first to admit that this topic of love remains a mystery.

And so on and on we try to comprehend it.