Over time, I have come to understand that Love moves into and out of form. Time dissolves forms, yet the essence of Love remains, a constant energetic presence that does not dissipate. I noticed this most acutely when my mother passed away, and later that same year, when our beloved cat followed her. Nineteen years later, their forms, their bodies, are undeniably gone, yet the love I shared with them endures—vivid, undeniable, woven into the fabric of my being.
Today, as I reflect on the fires ravaging Southern California, the landscape of my childhood, this awareness deepens. As fires consume, dissolve, and transform, and their destruction is heart-wrenching, I am also feeling a surreal sense of awe as I witness the absolute and indiscriminate power of fire, of death.
I see the eucalyptus trees in the hills where I used to play and watch them burn with such ferocity, their towering forms screaming with life as they are being obliterated. Yet even in that destruction, there is a strange, stark beauty. I can hardly comprehend how something so obviously terrible can be simultaneously so magnificent.
When I turn away from the images and retreat into the quiet saftey of my home, I comfort myself by contemplating what I have known of death previously. I remember how loss has been a lifelong companion. I remember . . . Oh yes, the ashes nourish the soil, and in time, green shoots will emerge. The land remembers, just as my heart remembers. I remember my mother, who also grew up in those same hills. I remember . . . love is constant. Love remains when form dissolves.
It is impossible to know what form Love will take in the future. Or perhaps it is more accurate to say that it is impossible to predict how I will perceive Love. Even when Love is not tethered to a specific form—a person, a place, a cherished way of life—will I attune myself to its quieter presence?
I do sense Love gestating in the grief and the shock of the fires, expanding and deepening in people’s tears and hearts. I see it most obviously in the kindness of strangers and the outpouring of compassion and concern and support as those unaffected by material loss stand ready to house refugees and offer comfort. While the old forms and symbols of wealth and comfort and safety dissolve, Love recycles and new expressions of Love arise, reshaping our definitions of wealth and comfort. Love is on the move, burning our bodies into deeper acceptance of this existence, opening our hearts and our arms to the true wealth we can find in each other.
When I become too attached to a particular form—a person, a home, a way of finding meaning—my heart inevitably breaks when that form is taken away. And it always is. This loss can be shattering and feels unbearable at times, yet it is also a profound gift. The obliteration of form is not an error or a punishment but the rhythm of transformation, the inevitable cycle of growth, death, and renewal. Fires, losses, deaths—these are all part of the alchemy of life, stripping away what no longer serves and creating space for something new to emerge.
This dissolution has been a form of grace for me, though it’s probably too soon to reference the Palisades fire from this perspective. Loss, endings, deaths don’t always reveal, in the moment, the blessing of love that is gestating in the drama. It is generally more of a progressive liberation from the attachments my ego clings to, an invitation to surrender to what is beyond my understanding. My mind may struggle to grasp this, but my heart knows. My body knows. In the tender aftermath of loss, there is a deep knowing that Love itself remains untouched, flowing like an underground river beneath all appearances.
As I write this morning, I am profoundly grateful for the forms Love takes in my life as they arise: the faces of my husband and friends, the laughter of children, the vivid colors of a California sunset. These are fleeting, yet they are miraculous. I try to hold them lightly, marveling at their beauty while also accepting that they, too, are on their own journey. Like the hills I grew up in, they will change; they will burn; they will transform.
The fires remind me that refuge ultimately cannot be found in the forms Love takes. True refuge lies in the field of Love itself, the eternal essence that animates all things. This is the Love that does not come and go, that persists through every death, every fire, every loss. It is the Love that enlivens us, that moves through us, that we are.
Perhaps we can hold this awareness together: that while the forms of Love will always change, Love itself remains. It is in the ashes, in the new growth, in the spaces left empty and in the places where new life takes root. And it is in us, always.
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