The cure for the pain is in the pain.
Flowering. Love cannot be held long within categories, likewise the poetry celebrating love. You might say that love loves confusion and not be far wrong. Love is metamorphosis, rapid and radical, agile, full of vigor and levity.
It's 4 A.M. Nasruddin leaves the tavern and walks the town aimlessly. A policeman stops him. Why are you out wandering the streets in the middle of the night? Sir, replies Nasruddin, if I knew the answer to that question, I would have been home hours ago!
If one sense breaks free from its bonds having a glimpse of the invisible it makes it apparent to all the others. You have seen how when one sheep jumps over the creek the whole flock follows. So drive the flock of your senses to pasture and let them graze on the heavenly flowers in the Garden of Truth.