The hope of loving

I looked up from my reading this morning to see two deer leaping about on our beach. They appeared to be sampling every different type of weed and grass we had to offer, and they were obviously not finding what they were looking for.

Though they appeared to have come from the beach next door, I couldn't imagine them traveling the length of the sandspit looking for food; having seen them on the beach across the water only a day or two earlier, I suspect they swam over to check out the food possibilities and would soon be swimming back in disappointment. The sand which passes for soil over here is hardly capable of supporting the sort of rich diet they need.

Luckily for them, the opposite shore with its dense collection of gardens, salal, clover and fir trees is an easy walk at low tide. But for the rest of us who occasionally find ourselves in environments which cannot feed us, the escape to a less hostile environment and safety is not always so easy. If the channel is deep and fast, or we have to cross a long arduous desert, there's always the temptation to stay put, to subsist on what crumbs we can gather and try to ignore the fact that our souls are shriveling for lack of nourishment.

Meister Eckhart has a lovely poem about that space.
It's called "The Hope of Loving":

What keeps us alive, what allows us to endure?
I think it is the hope of loving
or being loved.

I heard a fable once about the sun going on a journey
to find its source, and how the moon wept
without her lover's
warm gaze.

We weep when light does not reach our hearts.
We wither like fields if someone close
does not rain their kindness
upon us.