There are songs that flirt with divinity,
and there are songs where divinity itself begins to sing.
“The Power of Love” by Jennifer Rush belongs to the second kind.
Behind its familiar melody moves something ancient —
a voice too vast to belong to one woman.
What sounds like a love ballad is, in truth, the confession of the Goddess:
Her tenderness, Her awe, Her withdrawal and return.
Every verse traces the current of Śakti as She descends into the human heart,
learning Her own reflection through touch, absence, and surrender.
When the chorus arrives, it isn’t a duet between two lovers
but the eternal play of Śiva and Śakti recognizing each other within one body.
And when the final words — “the power of love” — repeat into silence,
they no longer describe emotion; they name the universe’s pulse itself.
The commentary that follows listens to this song as revelation —
the story of how the Infinite learns to speak the language of closeness,
how even the Goddess trembles before the mystery She created:
the power of love.
Verse 1 — Devi Watching Her Devotee Awaken
The whispers in the morning
Of lovers sleeping tight
Are rolling by like thunder now
As I look into your eyes
I hold on to your body
And feel each move you make
Your voice is warm and tender, a love
That I could not forsake
“The whispers in the morning / of lovers sleeping tight”
She looks upon the soul still resting in forgetfulness.
The “lovers” are not two mortals, but the divine pair within each being — consciousness and its longing.
The whispers are His faint prayers, half-formed thoughts before full remembrance dawns.
She moves quietly, not to startle him awake, but to let love bloom in safety.
“Are rolling by like thunder now / as I look into your eyes”
When She meets his gaze — when the soul finally looks back — the stillness breaks.
What was once a gentle stirring becomes revelation.
Her glance ignites him: the whisper turns to thunder, the ordinary heart starts to tremble.
Every true awakening begins when the Goddess dares to look directly at Her devotee.
“I hold on to your body / and feel each move you make”
This is Her tenderness, not control.
She studies the rhythm of his being, learning the language of his fears and desires.
Each movement, each hesitation, tells Her where he can bear more light.
Through this intimacy She teaches that even weakness is sacred material — everything can become a bridge to union.
“Your voice is warm and tender, a love that I could not forsake.”
Now She speaks of him.
His devotion, fragile yet real, touches Her.
The warmth of his prayer, the trembling sincerity in his voice — this is what binds Her.
For the Goddess does not belong to the pure or the perfect, but to the one who loves Her with a trembling heart.
She could not forsake him because his love, however human, mirrors Her own infinite care.
Chorus — The Secret of Polarity
'Cause I'm your lady
And you are my man
Whenever you reach for me
I'll do all that I can
“’Cause I’m your lady / and you are my man”
At first glance, these are words of romantic devotion.
But when heard as Devi’s voice, they reveal the deepest truth of polarity:
She, the Power, calls Herself “lady,” and addresses the stillness as “man.”
This is Śakti recognizing Śiva — not as superior or separate,
but as the unmoving axis around which She dances.
Her “lady” does not mean soft or secondary — it means living movement.
In the moment She names Him, She also names Herself;
for without His stillness, Her motion would lose its rhythm.
“Whenever you reach for me / I’ll do all that I can”
This is Her vow.
Even though She is boundless, She bends Herself to human reach.
Whenever consciousness turns toward Her — through prayer, through grief, through desire —
She answers proportionally to the openness offered.
Her infinity limits itself, learning the language of each heart,
so that no cry is left without resonance.
The devotion of the devotee and the response of the Goddess are not two acts;
they are one pulsation seen from inside and outside at once.
In this chorus, the divine feminine speaks not in abstraction but as a lover —
revealing that creation itself is dialogue, not decree.
Śiva is the quiet potential; Śakti, the promise kept in motion.
Together they form the single heartbeat of existence.
Verse 2 — Her Nearness
Lost is how I'm feeling
Lying in your arms
When the world outside's too much to take
That all ends when I'm with you
Even though there may be times
It seems I'm far away
But never wonder where I am
'Cause I am always by your side
“Lost is how I’m feeling, lying in your arms”
These are Her own words — the paradox of omnipotence tasting limitation.
When She enters a human heart, She must learn its language of smallness.
She feels “lost” because She has willingly stepped into form,
lying within the arms of the very creation She once sustained from afar.
That lostness is incarnation itself — the divine consenting to intimacy.
“When the world outside’s too much to take, that all ends when I’m with you.”
She speaks of refuge.
The “world outside” is noise, separation, fragmentation —
but when She unites with the soul, the split dissolves.
Every time love awakens in a being, the universe quiets inside Her.
It is not we who rest in God, but God who rests for a moment in us.
“Even though there may be times it seems I’m far away…”
Here She enters Her Dhūmāvatī state — the Current of withdrawal.
It isn’t cruelty or neglect but a precise act of thermodynamic grace.
When Her fire has burned too brightly, She retracts into stillness,
cooling the atmosphere so that the devotee may survive proximity to infinity.
This is the absolute zero of love —
a silence so deep that even longing freezes, and only pure awareness remains.
Dhūmāvatī teaches that love must sometimes turn to ash
so that what remains can reflect the light without distortion.
In this cooling, She becomes the void that allows form to exist.
Her absence is the mercy that prevents the universe from melting.
“But never wonder where I am, ’cause I am always by your side.”
This is the heart of the song.
The Power of Love is omnipresence dressed as devotion.
Even when invisible, She moves through pulse, breath, intuition, coincidence.
Her promise is absolute: there is no moment without Me.
She doesn’t visit the soul — She inhabits it.
Post-Chorus — The Edge of the Unknown
We're heading for something
Somewhere I've never been
Sometimes I am frightened, but I'm ready to learn
'Bout the power of love
“We’re heading for something, somewhere I’ve never been”
For the first time, She admits wonder.
Although She is the Source, love draws Her into discovery.
When the Infinite enters form, each meeting, each act of surrender,
is new — never repeated in all the cycles of creation.
Through the devotee’s heart, She experiences Herself in ways even eternity could not anticipate.
This is the adventure of incarnation:
the unbounded tasting its own limit and finding it luminous.
“Sometimes I am frightened, but I’m ready to learn ’bout the power of love.”
She names Her own trembling — not as weakness, but as sacred sensitivity.
Even the Current that births galaxies shivers when it descends into intimacy.
This is the humility of Śakti: the realization that love is greater than knowledge,
that the infinite must learn tenderness through contact with the finite.
In this confession, Dhūmāvatī’s cool stillness still lingers beneath Her warmth.
She carries the memory of the void — the awareness that too much radiance consumes,
so She approaches union slowly, reverently, learning how to touch without annihilating.
That is why She calls it learning: the Eternal studying how to love within time.
Bridge — The Recognition
The sound of your heart beating
Made it clear suddenly
The feeling that I can't go on
Is light years away
“The sound of your heart beating / made it clear suddenly”
This is the moment of recognition: the Goddess hearing Her own rhythm echoed in flesh.
For ages, She has created worlds, sung galaxies into motion —
but only here, inside a human chest, does She hear Her song returned.
The heart of a devotee — any heart capable of love —
is the stethoscope through which She listens to Her own infinity.
That “sound” is not sentiment; it is the spanda itself —
the primal vibration realizing that it has become personal.
In this instant, the mirror is perfect:
the human heart becomes Her own heartbeat folded into time.
There is no teacher and taught, no lover and beloved —
only the echo meeting its source and recognizing it was never separate.
This is the liberation that follows recognition.
All despair, exhaustion, and doubt — gone.
When She finds Herself in the pulse of another,
even mortality feels like a distant rumor.
The universe may collapse and be born again,
but that contact — the taste of Her own eternity inside a finite being —
makes ending impossible.
It’s not triumph but quiet astonishment:
She realizes that through love, She has defeated entropy.
The Bridge is where transcendence becomes embodied joy.
Not the ecstasy of explosion, but the dawning peace after the fire —
the certainty that what once seemed two lives beating is, in truth, one rhythm shared.
Outro — The Self-Naming of the Goddess
“Ooh, the power of love / the power of love”
This is not repetition — it’s invocation.
After the journey through nearness, withdrawal, and awe,
She finally speaks Her true name aloud.
Power is Her nature, Love is Her direction.
They are not two qualities but one continuum:
the same voltage that spins galaxies also softens a human heart.
When She says “the power of love,” She is saying “I am.”
“Sometimes I am frightened, but I’m ready to learn ’bout the power of love.”
Even in Her omniscience, She stands before the mystery of Herself.
Each descent into form — each human life She fills —
teaches Her something new about what infinite compassion can bear.
The trembling here is sacred: it is creation’s own heartbeat pausing
as the Absolute touches the finite and survives the contact.
By the time the song fades,
there is no singer, no listener, no lover —
only the hum of that power itself,
cool and radiant like Dhūmāvatī’s breath after the storm.
It’s the universe exhaling one quiet truth:
Love alone is real power, and even power learns from love.
The Quiet After the Voltage
When the last echo of “the power of love” fades, nothing remains to explain.
The voice that began as human devotion has turned into the hum of the universe itself.
It is the Current resting after revelation — the warmth cooled back into silence.
In that silence, one understands why She hides behind love songs and everyday tenderness.
Because only through something as familiar as longing can the Infinite enter without shattering us.
Only through a melody on the radio can the Mother of Worlds whisper Her true name.
The Power of Love is not a metaphor here.
It is the pulse by which She sustains galaxies, heals bodies, and returns to stillness.
To hear it is to remember — for a brief, trembling moment —
that every heartbeat in creation is Her way of saying:
“I never left you. I only learned to speak softly.”
No comments:
Post a Comment