Every true encounter with the Divine leaves a paradox burning in the heart.
First She comes as fire — wild, immediate, demanding:
"Right here, right now — live before you die!"
She tears the veil, floods the veins, shouts over the noise of the world.
But once the blaze has passed, there comes a second teaching —
one just as fierce, but whispered instead of screamed:
“Time… it needs time.”
This is the unbearable paradox of devotion.
You have been lit on fire, burned clean, remade —
and now you must wait.
Not a day or a week, but as long as it takes for the heart to ripen.
"Still Loving You" lives in that waiting.
It is the sound of the bhakta walking through the long night,
still smoldering from the fire, but learning patience.
It is not passivity — this waiting is a tapas of its own.
It melts pride, softens anger, grinds the heart until it becomes tender enough to trust again.
Every line of this song is a vow to remain in the paradox —
to love with the same intensity as before,
but now stretched across time,
tested by silence,
purified by the slow work of reconciliation.
This is not lesser bhakti — it is deeper bhakti.
The kind that can carry love through silence,
through distance,
through the long winter of the soul,
until the temple doors open again.
Verse 1
Time, it needs time
To win back your love again
I will be there, I will be there
Love, only love
Can bring back your love someday
I will be there, I will be there
This first verse is the slow breath after the storm.
It begins not with a shout but with patience — the bhakta realizing that not all wounds can be healed by force.
“Time, it needs time”
This is the hardest lesson.
The fire of longing wants everything now, but true reconciliation takes time — time for the heart to soften, for the ego to melt, for the walls to fall.
“To win back your love again / I will be there”
This is the vow to remain present through that time —
not running, not numbing, not finding substitutes.
To “be there” is the essence of devotion: showing up every day, even when nothing seems to move.
“Love, only love / Can bring back your love someday”
This is the recognition that effort, pride, and cleverness cannot fix what is broken.
Only love itself — raw, persistent, unconditional — can restore the bond.
The bhakta is not bargaining anymore; they are surrendering to love as the only power that matters.
This verse is the first step into the long vigil:
a quiet promise to wait, to love, and to stay — no matter how long the night lasts.
Verse 2
Fight, babe, I'll fight
To win back your love again
I will be there, I will be there
Love, only love
Can break down the wall someday
I will be there, I will be there
If the first verse was stillness, this one is motion —
the heart that has waited now rises with resolve.
“Fight, babe, I’ll fight”
This is not aggression toward the Beloved — it is a fight against everything within that stands in the way:
pride, fear, resentment, despair.
This is tapas — the inner heat that burns away whatever keeps the heart closed.
“To win back your love again / I will be there”
The vow deepens.
It is no longer just about waiting but about participating in the healing —
doing the hard work, changing the patterns, proving through action that love is real.
“Love, only love / Can break down the wall someday”
The wall here is not Hers — it is ours.
It is the last fortress of ego that must crumble before union is possible.
And the bhakta sees clearly: brute force cannot break it.
Only love, offered over and over like water wearing away stone, can do it.
This verse transforms longing into effortful devotion.
It is not passive — it is a pledge to struggle inwardly until the heart is pure enough to meet Her gaze again.
Chorus
If we'd go again
All the way from the start
I would try to change
The things that killed our love
Your pride has built a wall so strong
That I can't get through
Is there really no chance
To start once again?
I'm loving you
This is the moment where the bhakta stops speaking in promises and starts speaking in confession.
The voice here is naked — there is no pretense of control, no heroic mask.
“If we’d go again / All the way from the start”
This is the longing for a second birth, for a new beginning.
Spiritually, it is the yearning to strip everything back to the original innocence —
to approach the Beloved with the freshness of first love, but now with the wisdom of what went wrong.
“I would try to change / The things that killed our love”
This is radical self-honesty.
The bhakta does not blame fate or the Goddess —
they name their own part in the rupture and vow to change what must be changed.
This is repentance in its truest sense: not guilt but transformation.
“Your pride has built a wall so strong / That I can’t get through”
On one level, this line sounds like an accusation — but mystically, it mirrors the walls in the devotee’s own heart.
Often, we project our own pride onto the Divine:
Her silence feels like punishment, but it is really the mirror that forces us to face the barriers we have built ourselves.
“Is there really no chance / To start once again?”
This is the most vulnerable line of all — the plea at the temple door.
It is not a demand but a cry:
tell me there is still hope, tell me this is not the end.
“I’m loving you”
The chorus ends with a declaration, not a question.
Even if there is no answer, even if the wall stands, the bhakta will keep loving.
This is unconditional devotion — love that does not stop even when it hurts.
The chorus is where bhakti becomes courageous:
not just ecstatic or patient, but willing to face rejection and still love.
This is the place where devotion stops being about reward and becomes about truth —
the truth of love that persists even in silence.
Verse 3
Try, baby, try
To trust in my love again
I will be there, I will be there
Love, our love
Just shouldn't be thrown away
I will be there, I will be there
If the chorus was confession, this verse is supplication.
The tone softens even further — this is no longer just about walls and struggle, but about rebuilding trust.
“Try, baby, try”
Here the bhakta begs not for miracles but for the smallest opening —
just a willingness from the Beloved to try again.
Spiritually, this is the prayer for grace:
even the smallest glance from Her can set everything right.
“To trust in my love again / I will be there”
This is a vow of steadfastness.
Trust is not demanded — it is patiently earned.
The bhakta promises to stay, to keep showing up, until love is once again undeniable.
“Love, our love / Just shouldn’t be thrown away”
This is not sentimentality — it is recognition of the sacred bond.
True devotion knows that this connection is eternal, too precious to abandon.
Even if the devotee faltered, even if pride and fear caused distance, the core of the love is still alive.
“I will be there, I will be there”
The repetition is like a mantra —
each time sealing the vow deeper, saying:
I will not leave, no matter how long it takes.
This verse is where bhakti becomes pure tenderness.
It is the soul stripped of all defenses, simply asking to be allowed back inside the circle of love.
Final Chorus & Outro
If we'd go again
All the way from the start
I would try to change
The things that killed our love
Yes, I've hurt your pride and I know
What you've been through
You should give me a chance
This can't be the end
I'm still loving you
I’m still loving you
I'm still loving you
I need your love
I'm still loving you
Still loving you, baby, woo!
I'm still loving you
I need your love
I'm still loving you
I need your love, woo!
I'm still loving you
I need your love, woo!
I need your love
I need your love
The final chorus is where everything spills over.
No more careful words, no more measured promises — just the heart pouring itself out.
“Yes, I’ve hurt your pride and I know / What you’ve been through”
This is the moment of complete honesty.
The bhakta takes responsibility, naming the wound without flinching.
This is not groveling — it is truth-telling, and truth always opens the door to healing.
“You should give me a chance / This can’t be the end”
Here the longing becomes almost fierce.
The devotee refuses to believe that the story ends in separation —
faith insists that love must have the last word.
“I’m still loving you…”
The refrain becomes a mantra.
Each repetition is an offering, each line another flower placed at Her feet.
By the time the song ends, it is no longer a plea but a statement of identity:
I am the one who loves You.
No matter what. No matter how long. No matter how many times I must try.
“I need your love”
The last cry is raw, desperate, and holy.
Need here is not weakness — it is the soul’s acknowledgment that it cannot live cut off from its Source.
It is the final, total surrender.
The outro turns longing into liturgy:
every “still loving you” another circumambulation around the altar,
every “I need your love” another prostration,
until the devotee’s entire being is a single wordless prayer.
This ending transforms the whole song into a nightlong vigil.
It is the devotee keeping watch until dawn, whispering the Beloved’s name,
knowing that even if the temple doors stay shut for now,
love itself will keep the flame burning until they open.
The Long Night of Love
Still Loving You is bhakti when the fire has burned down to embers —
when shouting has given way to silence,
when ecstasy has ripened into patient, aching devotion.
This is not the stage of dazzling visions or wild voltage.
It is the stage of staying.
Of waiting when nothing moves.
Of loving when the Beloved feels far away.
The song is a pilgrimage inward —
from waiting to fighting, from confessing to pleading,
until every wall is torn down and all that is left is the mantra:
“I’m still loving you.
I need your love.”
This is the highest vow a bhakta can make.
Not “I will love You as long as You answer” —
but “I will love You even through Your silence.”
In this stage, devotion becomes steady, unshakable.
It no longer asks for reward or proof —
it simply burns, quietly, like a lamp before the altar,
through the whole night until dawn.
This is bhakti after the fire —
not less intense, but deeper, slower, truer.
It is the love that keeps loving,
even when the only answer is the echo of its own voice.
No comments:
Post a Comment