Love is the existential reward of audacious, aligned, authentic living. Love is the flow of experience melting into the substance of your perennial value.
Those who speak of it sully it. Those who seek love, by their very seeking deny it, denying theirs.
Those who chase love, repel it. Love is no action, love is no spiritual-romantic marketing talk. Not that which you read in the books written by those who extoll a philosophy for the donkeys of consolation.
Reality is not love. The universe is not love. Life’s purpose is not love. The mystics were drunk on their solitude, the poets deluded by their wordplay, and the consumers seduced by the feeling.
Just because it feels good doesn’t mean it’s true. Just because it feels uncomfortable at first, doesn’t mean it’s not right. Just because it feels right because, of course, it is familiar does not, again, make it right.
Would those who believe so say so to a child born on the garbage heaps of the third worlds? And so the child might have desensitized his conditions into familiarity.
Would those who believe so impel the child to stay there? Command the child to know her place?
Love does not exist out there. It is no object, it’s not a relationship, it isn’t a process. Love, for an object is not love—but by desire, affinity, by definition conditional.
Love with strings attached? Loved defined? Love contained? Love quantified, is love with a price tag. Need I say more about a price tag?
Love is a spirit. Love is a motion. Love is the existential reward of audacious, aligned, authentic living.
Love is the flow of experience melting into the substance of your perennial value. Love is what you notice as the vast quality of your existence, when you pulse in the vast resonance of the totality.