Recipie for Travel

Love is not emotion. Love is not cause, sentiment, or memory. Though love knows these, love is wider than these, and so cannot be reduced to just these.
Love is a spaceship, a space suit and a map. Love is deeply dependable directions for how to get from Here to Here:
Where:
here = where one appears to be now,
and
Where:
here 2= where one wants to go.
Love is a decoder ring, a cypher for an otherwise terribly difficult to navigate territory.
When it comes to the question of 'what do I do' or how do I do it, Love answers as sophisticated communication that paints gridlines of tantric illumination, weaving infinite possibility, offering turn by turn navigation. Sometimes Love also sits quietly, looking simple, simply looking back.
Love makes bridges, lifts roads off the map completely, and lands again in a new way. Before there was love there was mostly only warring points of view, misunderstanding each, screaming words in languages foreign to the other tongues in the conversation- and everyone cried, deeply justified tears.
To know love- it is recommended to conjure an image of a weaver through time. Draw her in mind: old, brown, and rich with song, at her loom. Also recommended is to squint the eyes like how you do when all the lights are on all the trees. Make it blurry on purpose, note the color and the feeling inside that arises from this type of looking. (It's something like wonder.)
Scribble, jot down a few notes from this round, and return to working the map.
After there was love there was justice and everyone breathed out, and it was an unmistakable feel as it turned into laughter. To know love now is to know justice and to wait for it and wrestle for it, whilst all the while knowing it's already here.
For now, this is the way of it;
wisdom will never settle for anything less.
The world will end in laughter, or it's not over yet.