My awareness that I love You is now firm, not wavering - your word struck a blow to my heart, and I love. The very sky and earth, after all, bid me love you, as do all the things (all around me) they contain. They bid every one of us to love, 'lest there be any excuse' for those not loving You (and even then, at a deeper level, 'You will have mercy where Your mercy wills, show pity where Your pity wills' - why else do heaven and earth reiterate their call to those not hearing them?). But what, in loving You, do I find lovable? Not, surely, physical splendor, nor time's orderliness - not light's clarity (how kindly its aptness to the eye), nor sweet linkages of variable melody; not soft fragrances of flower, oil, or spice; not honey or heaven-bread; not limbs that intermingle in embrace - these are not what, in loving You, I love. And yet I do - do love a kind of light, a kind of song or fragrance, food or embrace - in loving You, who are my light and voice and fragrance and food and embrace, all of them deep within me, where is my soul's light that fades not, it's song that ends not, a fragrance not dispersed in air, a taste never blunted with satiety, an embrace not ending in depletion. This is what, in loving my God, I love - yet what can I call this?