I love you.

Dear Sparkling Circle of Beautiful Beamings of Light and All-Things-Sourced-from-Perfection 

or Folks Who “Happened to” Find this Note:

I love you. 

As I woke up this morning, I rolled over, and before I was fully awake, I murmured, “I love you.” 

My hand reached out to a pile of soft pillowed textures, the slotted space that spooned with me two decades’ worth of happily ever after wishes, and I realized though the long-ago snores are nothing but noisy, playful memories, I am never alone. My heart’s peace still dreams quietly beside me, and I said it again, a little louder so we could float, “I love you.”

I looked up at the large painting passed to me from my mother—a field of massive daisies that frightened me as a child. The daisies felt enchanted, the way the colorful field of poppies made Dorothy and her friends fall to sleep so close to Oz. Now, Mom’s broad-faced daisies hold the echo of whimsical toasts and conversation from her dinner parties and mothering. Leaning high and especially precarious in earthquake country, atop my tall, wide bookcase so that they’d greet me when I’d open my eyes, now, their field soothes me. I won’t die by daisies today, I thought. Relieved, I sighed, “I love you.”

After pulling on my old Uggs and cracking open her door, I whispered, “I love you,” to my slumbering Ruby before sneaking out her sleepy dog for our daily jaunt of pup cups and coffee. Her heart-shaped nose sniffed the dawn as I cooed, “I love you,” again into her soft, spotted ears and again, “I love you,” to the pear trees resplendent with a jillion jiggling blossoms glistening with last night’s rain. “I love you, morning. I love you snoozing neighbors with long-limbed teenagers who make my mama-heart purr when you play basketball in our cul-de-sac of simple joys. I love you, singing birds broadcasting on warm breath and wings in this chilled duet: ‘I love you, World.’”

This. This is my resonant frequency. This love is who I am. This is how I’ve been blessed to wake up since I was a child, glad for the day, a  precious life, a new morning. Feeling lucky and blessed to have a fresh chance to do better, write, hug, laugh a bit, gather community in my arms, and heal with more love, more light. 

And I know/feel/see civilization as we’ve known it crumbling like a sandcastle during a fast-rising tide. But that feeling, that love and appreciation for all that is in this other moment of beauty—to some may appear to come from a place of inexorable privilege. To that, I offer that  no one really knows what battles we wage with otherworldly happenings in the seams of our inner and inter-dimensional dreams. I trace my scars and their stories of survival. Like many of you, I sometimes awaken with cuts or mystery bruises. Like some of you, I can wake up sore, sweaty, or limping. But most mornings, I roll over, reach out, and say, “I love you,”  because I do. Forever. I do. 

I am love incarnate.

And now, as I tip-tap-type, it is night. Other news has trickled in,  trying to break in and spirit away my heart’s small, smooth, skipping stones of happiness. I shore up the berm with more love notes: I love my daughter’s laughter. I love that I can see the moon and planets align in my skylight. I love my friend’s brilliance as she shares a piece of her Gaia play that makes me so proud I weep. And…while it may be premature to share the following, I also don’t think that we should take for granted any tug on our tongues to share a good love story, especially in the absence of a bonafide Valentine. So…

Two weeks ago, after waking from a dream where I’d been gifted a beautiful studio space in which to circle and dance and stay for a while (dreams are rare for me, so I pay attention when I do), after I showered, I put on a cozy, oversized flannel shirt I had only worn twice because I am unsure if I even like it. And Source asked, “Are you sure you want to wear this when you might meet your new love?” 

“What?” I smiled. “I’m going to meet my new love? Is ***** going to introduce me to my new love today?” I was dressing to drive a couple of hours to the Bay Area to see my dear old college friend and share a cup of magic in a favorite tea house. I’ve mentioned ***** is one of my luminous gal pals from college whose hands have been dancing since the day she came to a Dancing Hands Circle with us in San Francisco at the 17^th World Congress of Qigong/Tai Chi/Traditional Chinese Medicine. (She’s only told a few about her gift so far, so she’s ***** until she gives me the thumbs up.) 

When I arrived at her home, ***** was a bit nervous to tell me something, unsure how I’d take it, but after I insisted, she shared that at magical o’clock, she had bumped into a man in yoga and instantly thought, “Oh! I think this is Jane’s new love!” We laughed when she confirmed she bumped into him nearly the exact moment I was crazily being asked if I really wanted to wear that shirt to perhaps meet my new love. 

Cut to our favorite tea temple, an overflowing boho dreamhouse where groovy, enlightened beauty gathered on tuffets and kilim-covered cushions, nibbling on vegan yum, sipping their special-tea, and conversing in happy clusters. We moved to a corner tucked behind stage right of the open mic night, soon to begin. The owner knelt before us, and together, we did a ceremony releasing the old and making way for the new. ***** claimed her gift and shared it is Love. The owner nodded and said, “agape.” (Agape is the highest form of love—unconditional, selfless, unites and heals.) My hands were fiery hot with recognition, joy, and love for my sister/kindred friend. Agape love, it is.

Minutes later, two adorable young men, seeing the space to the right of us on our couch, sat beside us. They looked at their menus, and I encouraged them to “do the tea ceremony” and let it go, let it go. After they were served, clapped the old away, and invited the new, ***** struck up a conversation. Suddenly, we noticed the T-shirt of the man sitting closest to us. The whole chest of his shirt declares, “love love love love love love love…” easily a hundred times, love handwritten, fills the entire frame. I gasped, “Where did you get this shirt? *****, could there be a more perfect friend to sit beside us to confirm all we just talked about?” 

Smiling friend shook his head, “It’s from my yoga studio. It’s old. We don’t carry them anymore.”

“Well, I think I must find one or make one because this message is exactly what we need right now…wait, did you say, ‘Yoga studio?’ You have a yoga studio?”

New friend nodded, clarified he has two studios actually, and we tell them that ***** and I were just conspiring for me to come down to this area and have an event, and while we thought maybe at her yoga studio where a supposed new love might be, perhaps we should see his studio, too. Because Source is always winking. Why else would T-shirt Love sit on our right as we sat stage right on open mic night? Mere delight?

Cut to two days later, ***** sends me a couple of pictures. Again, I gasp. It looks like the dance space of the dream I’d had the night before tea! “Where is this, *****?” I ask.

“It’s Love Story Yoga, our new friend’s place.” 

“What? His yoga studio is called Love Story?!” I exclaimed. I can’t think of a more perfect name, and even though I’ve only seen these pictures and walked through it in my dream, wouldn’t it be fun to dance in a Love Story? 

So… Early this week, ***** and I will meet love, love, love t-shirted friend’s manager at Love Story, and I’ll let you know if we have an event there in March. A lot is going on right now. But isn’t it a crazy-beautiful-perfectly dreamy bonbon of good, old-Source spinning yet another evolving love story of all that can be if we say yes to listening, yes to keeping our hearts open, yes to recognizing walking metaphors of Love and Namaste, even as we raise our voices to declare our highest and best intentions for a healthy, inclusive, extravagantly love-fueled, diverse universe of being who we truly are despite the blankety-blanks cosplaying-faux-kings seemingly crashing and heckling the heck out of hope and helpers? Ya know?

Quick note about the political fires. Please know that I remain and will forever be an advocate and ally for all who are kind, compassionate, and doing their best to live with love and respect for all beings and this planet. I have no time for haters and divisive energy, so when I get spun with the incredible pain of the Congolese women and the people who seem to be attacking every non-white male or marginalized being or even a piece of our planet, I must dance, make my calls to my representatives, volunteer my platform and my heart to help. If you get spun with worry, anger, or fear, please know I empathize and feel this, too. AND as many of us have read, JOY and love are the highest forms of resistance, so please, take breaks for joy. Take time to love. And join me this week in the Quanta Circle for another love story from Source.