Love is. Period. And that’s definitely the greatest meaning of it. Ever. Bigger than you and me. To be found in the small things and little simplicities. It’s nothing more than that and all there is in the same time. Unconditionally. Always.
Don’t let yourself be swept away by the drama of the illusion. Being lifted up by what they say it should be. The deception. The fairy tale lookalike hides itself behind a mask of rose petals that appear to be fake when you let the romantic candle light shine upon it. The black hole of possessive conditionality becomes so apparent. Sucks you up. Strikes you like a bolt of lightening to the chest. At first sight disappears when that nightmare is brutally waking you up in the bed of roses. Taking your breath away. Tears of what supposed to be joy that penetrate the soul and break your heart.
Switch over to another channel. You’re in the wrong kind of movie. The happy ever after always comes after the end. This is called a romantic drama. It’s the paradox of love. That’s not what life is all about.
Real love just is. Now. In this present moment. Here, there and beyond. In deep profound lightness. And it doesn’t need much to flower. Just some awareness. Attention. An open heart. Clean connection. Honesty. A sense of uniqueness in togetherness with all there is. It lifts us up where we belong. Transforms. You. Me. In all its rawness. Life.
You might get hurt. You might think you’re dying of that pain in your heart. Disappointed in all and everything. Not understanding why. Alone. Disconnected.
But it’s always there. Period.
I saw love this morning. Pure and still. As a butterfly that came and sit softly on my shoulder. Written on a piece of driftwood. There it was. In my face. Presented in an idyllic picture paradise lost in love, showing me what it’s really about.
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