It occurred to me at once
That love gets everything it asks for
Like a young girl picking flowers in the lawn
She gets every kiss and tear
She gets every smile and fear, but still
She never finds the last of them is gone, oh
She never finds the last of them is gone
– “Eat, Sleep, Repeat” by Copeland
Love gets everything it asks for, because love creates the very thing it asks for precisely in the asking.
Love asks nothing but that its object be exactly what Love has already declared it to be.
In this way, Love asks for nothing at all. Love is a declaration about its object, its beloved. This declaration has been established fast by Love’s immovable will, an abyssal choice concerning the beloved. Love addresses its beloved, asking only that they cease struggling to earn. The beloved needs only relinquish their endless striving and settle into the enfolding arms of Love.
The apocalyptic stroke of Love upends and re-arranges the entire system of valuing in which the beloved had previously exhausted themselves. Only Love can rupture the old game of ‘earning,’ a game designed only to produce continual defeat. Without Love’s primordial declaration, the beloved can only reach, grasping and panting, as the standard of loveliness eternally recedes. Such an oppressive measure does not exist to strengthen the one who bends under its weight, but rather it breaks their back for the benefit of some cruel other. A cacophony of voices batter the beloved like a ship at sea, always driving the defenseless vessel towards some shoal upon which waits some greedy thief eagerly licking his lips to devour the wreckage.
The call of Love cuts through the wavering and insecure voices seeking to guide the beloved into unforgiving moorings. The lying voices quiver with anticipation of the kill, for they are ruled only by the fear that they might not be able to fill their stomachs. Like a calm and straight beam of light, Love stands out starkly against the chaos. Against the tapestry of ravenous predators, this beam of light appears completely pure and undiluted. This purity blossoms from Love’s unshakeable roots dug deep down in its primordial Will. This Will springs up out of nothing, a gap in the void, for it can have no origin outside of itself. Love creates its own beginning, and gives birth to its own end.
The end of love, can we even call it an end? This peculiar end only succeeds in giving birth to endless new beginnings, for the tolling of Love’s bell only grows louder as its echoes down the halls of times. Every body longs to feel the deep vibration of this azure bell which continually blesses every creature upon whom it falls. The rhythm of Love’s bell trains hearts to beat at new rhythms, and it causes creatures to dream of dances which have never been danced. This eternal determination of Love emerges only from itself, and its reverberations gather every creature up into its joyful procession.
Thus, Love receives everything it asks for. Would that we might be gathered into Love’s choice rooted only in its own identity, its self-determination, for only there might we find true freedom to dance. Only when we vibrate to Love’s strings may we find a song with which to bless the world. May that song find us, even in the darkest night.