When Love Beckons You

When really like beckons to you, follow him, although his approaches are tough and steep. And when his wings enfold you, yield to him, though the sword hidden amongst his pinions could wound you. And when he speaks to you, believe in him, although his voice may well shatter your dreams as the north wind lays waste the garden.
For even as adore crowns you so shall he crucify you. Even as he is for your growth so is he for your pruning. Even as he ascends to your height and caresses your tenderest branches that quiver inside the sun, so shall he descend to our roots and shake them in their clinging to the earth.
But if, within your fear, you'd seek only love's peace and love's pleasure, then it truly is far better for you which you cover
your nakedness and pass out of love's threshing-floor, into the seasonless world where you shall laugh, but not all of your laughter, and weep, but not all of your tears. Really like gives naught but it self and takes naught but from itself. Love possesses not, nor would it be possessed, for adore is sufficient unto love.
Adore has no other desire but to fulfill itself. But for those who adore and must have desires, let these be your desires:

To melt and be like a running brook that sings its melody to the night.

To know the discomfort of an excessive amount of tenderness.

To be wounded by your own understanding of enjoy;
And to bleed willingly and joyfully.

To wake at dawn having a winged heart and give thanks for yet another day of loving;

To rest at the noon hour and meditate love's ecstasy;
To return property at eventide with gratitude;
And then to sleep having a payer for the beloved in your heart and a song of praise upon your lips.