With love as with all things there are two polarities. Balance is measured in quanta not so familiar with reason's terms. Painted trails in shades of light and dark wrapped in mysterious premonitions and glimpses of magic or awakenings. The bitter is sweet and the sweet is bitter when images leave a trace on the sands by the flowing essence of the river near the trees. All the stories told are retold and poems rewritten in languages unknown to even the mystics. The heart wants what the heart wants independent of the "facts", similarities, or differences. Suddenly the smells become connected to memories pinned to emotions as sweet as Lilies and as bitter as poioneous mushrooms. The mystery that is the force of LOVE follows no set rules nor does it offer any explanations. All this I write yet if I had but lived another life or two, perhaps they would have some meaning.

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