The first hexagram, the first principle, of the I Ching is THE CREATIVE. The Something from Nothing ... the bursting of Life from the Void ... Pure Light, Pure Being ... the God Principle, the Creator ... First Cause ... Generative Power ... The Source of Life ... Pure Yang ... Father Sky ... The Sun.
I would also call this Principle ... LOVE.
W.H. Auden, one of our world's great poets, wrote,
"We must love one another or die."
He was speaking, I think, of the death we do ourselves in with if we choose not to love. I write these thoughts the day after another widely-publicized terrorist attack in Brussels. How many other attacks were there yesterday, the day before, and the day before that? Today?
What is the opposite of attack? My mind says Embrace.
The opposite of terrorism? Compassionism.
Let's commit compassionist embraces.
We will die, someday. Auden's urgent thought drives the human heart to love ... and yesterday, as happens in the wake of every terrorist attack, people reached out and embraced one another. I read of a woman who helped 11 other people cram into her little car to escape the carnage. She loved her passengers away from danger.
We love one another to life.
One love, one beam of steady light
can hitch and hold a heart
to the world. One love
can nourish a starving soul
enough to keep it on its feet,
to keep it taking one step
at a time. One step. One step.
One love can be the voice
entering the ear that flows
straight to the core of the brain,
the core of the soul, the well
of the heart that thirsts for rain
that has not fallen for what seems
a lifetime. One drop. One drop.
One hand, extended. One gaze
of mercy. One tear given permission
to course down a cheek. One ear held
next to a heart. One gentle
dare to loosen the mask.
One touch. One touch. One memory
of a singular touch, a touch that
awakens a soul, that insists
on love. One touch that startles
a being to breathe, that strikes
a chord, a memory, of music,
which is a river of joy. One love
that aches to touch and be touched,
however the touch arrives and melts
the ice of late winter, whatever the season
outside. Spring is always bursting into bloom
somewhere. Spring is invincible, inevitable.
The seasons always turn. One turn. One turn.
Spring will come. Flowers will detonate
colour into the slate of winter's end.
Perfume will mend exhausted air
and souls gone grey. One scent. One scent.
We wait for the flowers, the music, the love,
the step. We are the step into Spring;
we are the shifters of seasons;
we are the sun. The sun is within.
Come, dear season, dear soul.
Circle the earth of your being.