the Face of Love
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Oh, my friends, I weep for us.
For we have turned away from our true love, and
eats at our hearts.
Our souls-to-be's hearts
cry out for love's sweet touch,
but our minds and hearts and bodies serve their own, humiliating, substitute:
No matter what we will to do.
When we turned from our true love,
all we found was pleasure and pain.
not for the pain,
not even for the never-satisfying pleasures,
but for the true pain
that few of us dare face
or even admit to:
the pain of being forever apart from the Beloved
When I lost my soul's true love,
I lost my true self;
I lost the ability to know true
And now all I know,
all that is left me,
is an ill-fitting
that I pretend is me.
But it is only my protection against knowing how badly I was hurt
by saying no
to all that I truly loved.
I try to protect myself
by making a self
that not even I can love --
who only loves himself --
and desperately cries out to be loved.
But his heart is filled
not with love
but with greed
for love's pleasures.
And here is the center of my cry:
he will never know that love is attracted to
The Beloved bears all,
but can only be known
For when I lost my soul's true love,
I found an ache,
a black void
that cries out to be filled.
And made a personality --
a mask for my true self to hide behind --
that tries to fill that lightless hole
(that takes in everything and gives back nothing)
So he uses the pleasures of
my flesh and blood,
which he has stolen from me,
and calls that love...
Until even I cannot tell the difference any more.
But there is never enough pleasure to distract him
from the pain of the
when I lost my true love.
So he and I fill long endless days with his pleasure seeking,
with his petty little gratifications
that never fully drown my sorrow,
my soul-to-be's weeping --
Oh where is my true love?
And I weep for those who can
who can immerse themselves
in the endless thinking and believing and justifying and striving
that fill their masks' few days --
but leaves their souls-to-be's hearts empty --
pining away for the love they never feel
but always believe is in
the next caress,
the next pill,
the next dollar,
the next child,
the next car,
and the next...
But never is.
For love is not at the top of a shining mountain of ecstatic pleasures,
but at the bottomless center of the dark, boundless, protean sea of
itself, where the mask will never look.
But he cannot hear the call of that sea.
His eyes are filled with
that he but calls
Yet, from the depths of that sea our true love --
the Groom of our soul (His bride) --
calls to us in all that we
To see only His Face.
I looked for Him in school,
but no one knew Whom I was asking for.
I could not find Him there;
nor anyone who seemed to know of Him.
they taught me all about life
They taught me that there was pleasure in learning.
They shared with me their pleasure in
the arts --
beautiful music telling of rarefied feelings,
fine books filled with wonderful stories,
graceful pictures full of loveliness beyond knowing...
But not beyond appetite.
They praised beauty
and implied that should be enough
to fill the dark void
where my lost love once was.
But it was only a moment's distraction
that showed only that
He was still there, that
He had been there.
I still could not see Him face to Face.
And they taught me the pleasure of duty.
That I would be well rewarded if I improved my self,
my imperfect double, my mask;
and become some one who would place all that I am
at the disposal of my fellows
in their guise as society.
And with those rewards
I could trade
for the work of others
and get all the other pleasures I would
to fill the void left when I
lost my love;
so I could forget my weeping
for what I had lost,
and what I had gained
in its place.
But they couldn't teach what I really longed to know --
how do I find Him?
He seemed forever lost.
And for a time I lost my own way
and slipped into despair.
so barren of
that for a short while only the mask
and his black hole of desire
please forgive me,
(though I am already forgiven),
my Beloved --
For a short time I even forget my longing for You.
But You already know that.
the Beloved would not loose His hold on my heart.
He did not forget
And one day, in the darkest depth of despair,
He touched my tattered heart
and I laughed with
But still I could not see His Face.
So I went to churches and asked the religious teachers if
they knew Him.
They just looked at me like I was an alien;
some strange visitor
who had forgotten to wear his earth-mask.
I suppose that I had.
The only directions they had to give
were to their schools
where I could study words
which did not fill my need
nor drown my sorrow
nor show the way to Him.
And after I had studied enough,
should anyone ever ask me about Him,
I could then send them to study the same theology
in the same school
where we hadn't met,
face to Face...
But I discovered the pleasures of sexual union
about that time --
And long did I look for Him there.
I thought I was in love,
was I in love.
filled the empty days of my longing --
for a while.
But my lover left me,
and then I was in love with everyone --
with anyone --
who liked the way I looked,
the way I touched,
the way I ``made''
And I thought that every touch
would reveal Him
That every caress,
And any moment now I would see
in all His glory.
Finally the day came when my soul-to-be cried out in its longing
for some way to Him:
knowing how lost I had become.
And one came who knew that way,
sent by the Beloved that I might not be lost forever to Him.
But still I was deceived by the mask's way
and continued improving the mask,
the dying wraith of me that is not me,
hoping to become one who finds
And again the soul-to-be's heart
that was broken
carried the cry to His ears --
And I met His guide,
His servent and lover,
who showed the way to His door
that I might one day see His Face.
And I began to see that this personality,
my protection from
my longing for Him, can
only protect me from seeing His Face --
that it can
never protect me from the pain
of my great
And I spent many years learning from that self
all the ways I had come to be a safe harbor for
for the Beloved --
Who had allowed me to become so lost.
And then He came,
and whispered sweet words of encouragement,
in my ears.
And told me of His ceaseless love
which could never forget me,
nor would He ever stop loving,
and longing, for
But my weeping
shows the lie in all I have said --
for it shows the true motive.
And if the motive be false
it matters not that the argument be true.
For all my
is really for me,
no matter how it seems.
When I appear to be weeping
it is really
For in their forgetfulness,
they will never be able to truly
nor understand me,
nor love me;
and my weeping has become his weeping,
the weeping of the personality
for all that he desires,
but will never possess.
And still the soul's true love waits patiently, lovingly,
for me to become love,
that We may be One,
Waits for the day when,
wherever I look,
all I can see is His Face.
When I was young, and first fell in-love --
everything reminded me of that love.
In every face I saw something that reminded me of my love.
Those eyes --
aren't they like my love's?
That smile --
how like it is to his
when he is happy to see me!
And that little girl (who looks so impatient for the treat mommy buys her);
how she reminds me of him when he is waiting for me --
impatient for our embrace that sweetens
How then should it be different for the soul's true love?
When I love back
I see His invisible Face
in all that I see with love's
eyes, in all that I hear with love's
ears, in all that I touch with love's
isn't that He I see
peering at me through her eyes?
When I smile back,
thinking of Him,
how it lights up the face He is wearing now!
Well, those days of
are long ago,
And I have grown old
and heart sick
from the soul's wearying search for
in the body's dying search for
the touch and the pleasure of
And from the disappointment
that each time I loved I thought it was
He, in the Flesh --
and it was only
for the soul's true love
and not finding Him,
just another imperfect
All that I love is He.
And all that I hate is the mask of me,
where I try to hide from my pain;
the not-me that says,
``i don't want Him:
i know what i need.''
To see You
I must really look hard.
You are forever hidden
behind the mask that we have all fashioned
to hide from You
and from our true self.
I long to become like You,
that I might recognize You
in all that I see.
So I wear black
for all the false that we have,
that we possess --
for all that we have not yet lost --
all that is
of love --
but is only desperately clung to
And I wear black
of the true death;
and to show those few of my comrades
who have not forgotten their true love
that the way to Him
is through the death of all the mask holds dear.
Then can love
become the bloom
of our souls'
as it has in this heart
and the heart of many other lovers
throughout the ages.
To show the way to the door
which veils the
Face of the Beloved;
that they, too, may see His Face
in all they perceive
with the soul's eyes of
For I cannot show
Nor can I speak of His Love.
My tongue is silenced
on that subject
lest you mis-hear.
My face is veiled
lest you mis-see.
For you would only see what the mask desires,
and hear what it wants to hear.
He can be seen in His
the flesh of His Flesh,
by another who
Then may we all meet face to Face
in a life filled
with His Joy
and His Presence
and His Service.
In the meantime,
all I can show you is your self
that hides you from you and pretends
to hide you from
And point out the way to love's door,
which you must follow yourself,
which is the way to
And the mask still protects
me from those who
with loving eyes,
but want to possess Him
For they look to find Him there
so they can
own Him and
consume Him and
become Him -- and
see only another like them -- and
turn away in their disappointment.
Please send me a copy:
Copyright © 1996 by inX.
July 15, 1996.
Science of Man's Conscious Self-Evolution