Patience is maddening

Are we not to know what is to come of something? Are we subject to only what is?

Or are we able to bring forth what is not from that which is?

Patience is maddening.

we long to form, to create, to take what what is ours. But what is ours? What is ours to form, or to create? nonetheless what is ours to take?

The bird longs to take the worm, but is it his to take?
The painter Sees a sunset and creates it, but is it creation since he has seen it beforehand?
The engineer forms a bridge, but is it his if he does not travel it?
And if he does, is it not as much anyone else's who does so as well?

Did the engineer form the metal, or that which it is made of?
Did the painter create the sun or the horizon on which it sets?
Did the bird birth the worm that he waits to take?

Yet..

Without the bird, the worm lives.
Without the painter the canvas remains blank.
Without the engineer the void shall not be traveled.

So then, are we subject to what is, and what is not, or do we create? Do we form, and do we take?

Patience is maddening.

What cannot be formed, created, nor taken? Love.

What is said about the horse? You can lead it to water, you can make it drink, but then do you know if it was ever thirsty?

Nay.

Have you created thirst, or formed it?
Have you gave or taken thirst?

As is love

Only when it is presented is it created, only when it is shared is it formed, Only when it is given is it taken.

Patience is maddening.

That which we wait for must be created, must be formed, and must be taken.

But we long for and wait patiently for love which cannot be created, formed, or taken.

We do not know what is to come of love, and are subject to what is and what is not, in love.

Patience is maddening.