GOLDEN PROPORTION OF LOVE

THE GOLDEN PROPORTION OF LOVE

My Dearest Darling,

      It is Sunday, the nineteenth day of August.  A day of rest for many, but for me, my Love, it is a day of loving work. 

     On this day, as with each and every day, no matter how tempted, I must never relax my Love for you.  If I were to turn my attention from your beauty, your wonderment, your glorious allure, I fear I might shrivel into the graveyard of loneliness and despair.  Such is the fate of the Loveless.

     Love—True Love--is never letting up on the passion of its purpose.  To relax the reigns of Love suggests Love is tiring, laborious, casual, terrestrial.   It is quite the opposite for me.  My Love for you is a celestial enigma, like the stars hidden by dawn, your Love is always present in my heart, forever alive and thriving in its immortality.

     When I think of you, my Dearest, I am young and full of energy.  I am a seed bursting through the soil, shoving my husk against the earth’s protective crust.  I seek freedom from earth's womb to stretch my stalk upward toward the sun’s sweet lips of warmth and succulence.

       Often, I study a plant rising out of the earth and ponder if the reason it yearns the sky is because of its Love of the sun itself.  What if the sun is its Lover and the plant its Lovee, struggling with every ounce of its fiber to embrace the sun’s Loving rays, to revel in its warmth as a newborn child cries hungrily to be swathed in the comfort of its mother’s arms, or as the forlorn Lover yearns in the night to be once again engulfed in his or her Lost Love’s embrace?

     Oh, I apologize for laboring about where and how I envision Love, my Darling.  Or the nature of Love’s hunger.   But no matter what form or shape Love takes, I assure you my Dearest One that  it reflects your face in the flower’s buds, or your arms sprouting from the branches of a tree and your eyes in the sea of stars.   You are the Nature of Love.  Its Perfect Proportion.

     In Ancient Greece Pericles demanded the Golden Proportion be applied to all art and architecture, duplicating as best human hands could the magical chemistry of Nature’s perfection in design and appeal to eye and soul.  

     You, my Love, are the Golden Proportion of Love. 

     You are its perfection, its symbiosis with every angle and curve Nature provides to please the eye and soothe the soul through harmony and grace.

     On what others call Sunday, a day of rest,  I spend it seeking the Golden Proportion of my Love for you, and hopefully your Love for me.   While I cannot expect a quid pro quo, I wish for it as the painter covets that what he or she captures on canvass will do justice to the feeble eye’s perception of Truth and Beauty.

     Yes, I have no problem, my Love, seeing your Beauty in all things my eyes touch, or smelling your Love in all the scents wafting near my nostrils, or sensing your Love's presence through the tips of my fingers as I blindly grope my way on the darkest of nights.   You are Love's seed, its acorn, its oak.  You are the tumbling Love cloud showering life-giving rain on parched fields of summer flowers.  Or, the bursting bud morphing into a full-fledged flower. You are the swan gracefully gliding effortlessly on a serene lake or a leaf’s underbelly fluttering as the warm summer’s wind tickles its verdant veins to vibrating life.

     Oh, my Darling, you are pervasive and elemental.  You are the yin and yang of Love, with no blind sides, Athena and Aphrodite’s blended into one.  I honor you each and every day, through each tic and toc of the clock, and rise and fall of the sun and moon.

     I do not rest on my Laurels of Love for you.  Instead, I feed upon your rich beauty as the plant suckles the light of the sun, or the calf suckles on the teat of its mother, or the great oceans suckle the rivers and streams that feed its eternal thirst.

      You are my Golden Proportion of Love, my Darling, fueling every pore of my being to honor and adore you seamlessly, as I do on this Sun Day, and will do every other from now until eternity.

     I am yours in Golden Proportion,

                 Cyrano!

             Anderson-McKenzie

 

As The Thorn Protects The Rose, My Pen Defends Our Love

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