Love is the great mage,
and it is never just one thing.
It is conceited and charitable, humble and proud;
it is tricky, and clever, and self-serving,
that it may leave its holy and sacred mark
on the people it calls Light.
It moves swiftly and slowly
through a nation that it does not know,
unassuming as the land itself.
Its spells are woven as a web
throughout this time and all others—including the trap
that falls on all seekers called Grace.
It is these spells that bind the constellations together;
it is they also that created the stars and form them still.
It is through these charms that the enchanter connects
all things to all things;
so that though the surroundings may be new,
you are never really lost.
And it is that magnetism, that mystical power
drawing us close to other bodies, that inspires
within us meaning. It is purpose,
if we can hope to call it that,
which instills movement unto empty frames
in that jagged pattern called Passion.
For that is Love’s source: the possibilities it can imagine
are boundless and infinite, such that all things are briefly made true
by the whim of its yearning.
It is Love that gives to each person
a piece of its power—a token
for visiting that wonderful country
it has rooted itself in.
So that wherever they go, there it will be also;
so that each step taken is one of return.
You will find that the wizard’s form is unknowable,
always changing, for it is living each second
the lives of all people. It would sooner bear
that crushing weight called Death
than let even one who has belief stored within them
suffer the blighted desert that is loneliness.
Of course, it is a part of you also.
For as you have lived, it has watched;
and as you have watched, it has lived.
It is a strange creature, man and not-quite-man,
but it is also simply there: in and about
and throughout each
small and significant crisis of the heart called Truth.
And in all of it, it is never quite one thing.