In human form you see love tied to and from you. You forget that love is unending. It is not a tie, and yet you feel that a tie has been broken, rudely torn from you. When a beloved one dies, you mourn, you grieve, you believe you have lost something. Certainly in terms of the world, it is loss. A seat is now empty. A voice is now not heard except in the corridors of your mind. You believe love is lost, and so you weep.

Beloveds, is it the love received from the other you miss or your own love going out that you miss? Are they separable? The very way you cannot separate your love speaks for the impermeability of love. Love is not lost. Love is not found either. Love is. But you know only your awareness of love. Your awareness of love is bereft.

With the physical loss of a dear one, you feel that a particular flow of love has been interrupted. There was a tornado, and the bridge between you and another fell down. You don’t quite know how to give and how to receive any longer. You don’t know how to cross the river now.

Other bridges will be built, but you want that bridge just the way it was. You don’t want another bridge. That bridge is irreplaceable. No substitute will do. And yet, you will find other avenues, not to replace, not to substitute, but in their own right. You will not deny yourself the flow of love forever. To love again is as natural as the tears you weep for the passing of imagined time. Love is, and mourning has to leave. It can’t stay forever any more than the physical body. Despite what you may think, despite the comfort of a physical being before you, it is not the body that you loved. No matter how you may have loved it, the physical body is only an embodiment of love.

The physical body is a photograph you accepted as the real thing. You have believed it is the photograph you love, and the voice recording, and the smiles, and the eyes. They are precious to you. You would give a lot to hold your beloved’s hand once more. But the hand you cannot keep. There is nothing to keep, beloved. Love will stay of its own accord. There is nowhere for it to go.

You have equated an object of love with love itself. You mourn for the dear departed as if they have left you. Their love didn’t leave. Their love reaches you, as Mine does reach you. Physical evidence is only physical evidence. The mutual love of souls is another ball game altogether. The baseball always goes over the fence. There is nothing less than home runs, beloved. Souls touch. Souls embrace. There is no unembracing. Whether your loved one’s body died yesterday or fifty years ago, love is true. You are bewildered, but love is not. Love is greater than you have thought. Love is greater than the world has known. Nothing is greater than love. Nothing is as great as love. You have plenty of love in your heart. And the Universe continually supplies you with love. It is an unending force, the force of love, the beauty of love.

You can only imagine that you are forlorn of love. Have you not imagined that love has forsaken you or that you can forsake love. You can dance around it, you can close the blinds, you can cry your eyes out, but love stays, it cannot be thrown out, leave or do anything but fill you. Love is never absent. You have seen samples of love and called the samples love itself when love is so much more than you ever imagined it was.