He loves them. Those joining loves are both qualities of God. Fear is not. If I kept talking about love, a hundred new combinings would happen, and still I would not say the mystery. The fearful ascetic runs on foot, along the surface.
Lovers move like lightning and wind.
Theologians mumble, rumble-dumble, necessity and free will, while lover and beloved pull themselves into each other. The worried wife reaches the door and opens it. The maid, disheveled, confused, flushed, unable to speak. The wife enters this agitated scene. As though experimenting with clothes, the husband holds up some flaps and edges.