Being for us is will, the pure and blind force of happening, history and fate, of what we must accept as events. Is love then a modification of will, a kind of will, that goes counter to will, that detains it in its onrush, or is it something else alien to will, or what was left concealed in being when we took it as nothing but will? Is love will refracted through consciousness, bent around by something that remains, or is it the other way around, is consciousness and all that results from it, will refracted through love, its prior?