O sweet spontaneous
earth how often have
the
doting

     fingers of
prurient philosophers pinched
and
poked

thee
, has the naughty thumb
of science prodded
thy

     beauty     &nbs p;    how
often have religions taken
thee upon their scraggy knees
squeezing and

buffeting thee that thou mightest conceive
gods
     (but
true

to the incomparable
couch of death thy
rhythmic
lover

     thou answerest

them only with

     spring)

[I was in the mood for some poetry today, and you already know how much I love e.e.cummings…]

For each heart upon which is bestowed even the smallest gift of love, the mind interprets the magic according to its own experiences.  Each smile enriches the memory while each pain darkens it.  How then would you describe love?

A woman, her eyes melancholy, passed by and, sighing, said, ‘Love is a deadly poison, the breath of black adders writhing in Hell, flowing and swirling through the sky until it falls covered in dew, only to be lapped up by thirsty spirits. Then they are drunk for a moment, sober for a year, dead for eternity.’

A rosy-cheeked girl passed by and said, smiling, ‘Love is a fountain whose waters the spirit brides pour into the spirits of the strong, making them to ascend in prayer among the stars of night and to sing songs of praise before the sun by day.’

[. . .]

A handsome man with open features passed and gaily said, ‘Love is celestial knowledge that lights our eyes and shows us things as the gods see them.’

A blind man passed, tapping the earth with his cane, and weeping, he said, ‘Love is a thick mist enshrouding the soul on all sides and veiling the outlines of existence from it — or allowing it to see only the specters of its desires wandering among the rocks, deaf to the sounds of its own cries echoing in the valley.’

A youth carrying a guitar passed and sang out, ‘Love is a magical ray of light shining out from the depths of the sensitive being and illuminating all around it. You see the world as a procession traveling through green meadows, life as a lovely dream erected between wakefulness and wakefulness.’

Give me the storm and tempest of thought and action, rather than the dead calm of ignorance and faith! Banish me from Eden when you will; but first let me eat of the fruit of the tree of knowledge!

— Robert G. Ingersoll