There is only one language, and that is the language of love. Flowers speak it. Trees and the fruits of trees speak it. The soil of Earth speaks it. The stars and moon and all the planets speak it. The rising and the setting of the sun speak it. And in silence, love is spoken.
All the varied languages of the world, languages related and unrelated, also speak it. Languages are spoken by Human Beings, and Human Beings desire to speak, have mad desire to speak, and desire to be heard. This is desire to commune. Communication is a search for love.
Every language, recorded or not recorded, speaks of love. Love itself wishes to be spoken. It wants to hear itself love through the making of sounds. .
Language is connected to the tongue. A nursing baby begins language as he suckles. There is no separating language from love. Mother tongue is well-named.
How important sound is to the Human heart. The heart must have it. The heart must hear the sound of love. It makes the love itself.
Language wells up from the heart. Language begins with the welling up of the heart. Any speech that is not of love is language distorted. It is a lie. Be in Truth, and only love will be spoken. Love is beyond language, and yet love craves expression. There is the language of speech, and there is the language of action. A child presents a dandelion to his mother, and he has acted out love. Love is inexpressible, and yet it must be expressed. Language is far more than the words language uses.
Let there not be one thing you do that expresses anything but love. Let love overpower anything else. It does. Love is the most powerful force. Love proposes. Anything that is not love is no more than the swatting of flies.
All poems are love poems. Poetry unites what only seems disparate. All letters are love-letters. Even those that are irate are yearning for a greater closeness and reparation of imagined separation.
All songs are love-songs, crying out for love to be sung and love to be noticed, love to be raised even from a desert. Love is quietly or loudly supreme.
Love is the glue of a universe that needs no glue but pretends it does. Anything away from love is a pretense. It is a self-fooling. Even though love is denied, there is no denying it. Who does not know what it means to love? You have never not known what love is. Even when you feel you have none, you still know what it is.
Thoughts of love virtually do not leave your mind. Love itself certainly never leaves your heart. Where would love go? It is welcome everywhere, and yet it cannot go anywhere but where it already is. All the hearts and all the world are full of love even when it is feared that love is not.
Love exists. It does not leave, and yet love is protested and less than love is heralded. The language of love attacks itself. What a strange thing to do. And, yet, even so, love is known. There is not a cry in the world that is not a cry for love. And, so, love must answer its own cries for love.
The world cries out: "Do you love me?"
And you know the answer. "Yes," the world says back to itself, "I love you. Love me."
There is naught in the world but love, love spoken, love unspoken, love hiding, love in the open. There is no debate about love, and every debate is always about love. Love is the only topic there is. Love itself is endless, and discussions about love are endless as well. Come, enter the Kingdom of Love. I have been waiting.
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