There are so many kinds of love. Love for friends. Love for pets. Love for children. Love for romantic partners.
Each is different. But they have similar requirements. All require that the love be nurtured. All necessitate connection. All cause pain. The loss of a loved one is one of the worst pains.
But we cannot resist the call of love. The longing for love fills books, movies, songs. There is no sweeter flavor than the first taste of love. If cherished and held, love's deliciousness can deepen, ripen, adding texture and nuance to that initial mouth-watering experience.
Recently, I went on a trip with my daughter. Spending time with the girl I carried so many times in my arms, now a woman who walks on the path of adulthood, helped me to understand her and created shared memories that we will look back on with fondness.
We were attending the wedding of my cousin who I hadn't seen in a few years. As a young girl, I had met her parents (my aunt and uncle) almost every summer. They had been part of the fabric of my childhood, threads woven into the canvas of my life. Somehow, in adulthood, the connection had been interrupted. To pick up the dropped stitches, to knit them back into my life, affirmed the value of connection.
Is connection what love is? When Buddha became enlightened did he merely realize the ineffable, unbreakable connections between all of us, between Everything, Everywhere, All of Once? Is that what he understood?
That was the movie my daughter and I chose to watch at the hotel. Though a bit crazy in moments, I loved the message of the movie.
The story of the mother, resigned and regretful at having made certain choices in her life, resonated with me. In a small space in my heart resides an angel of regret who sometimes weeps over the moments I didn't choose myself.
Which brings us to the most important love of all: Self-love. Self-love is the start of love for everything else. Sometimes people confuse self-love with selfishness or self-centeredness. This gives self-love a bad name.
But do not be swayed by this obfuscation. We were born to express ourselves: to live in the world as our authentic, genuine, whole selves.
When I walked around that new city in the morning, seeing the people, the beauty of murals, the charm of the old architecture, I saw the will to live. The will to be. That is what the Self wants. To be itself in its every facet. We merely need to find the courage, the awareness, the strength to know who our Self is and then to be that.
Now I will return home. Tired. Satisfied. Replete with memories. There is no regret. Unlike my past self, I embraced each moment of my trip, from big to small. The vows between my cousin and her fiancée brought me to tears. The gaze of an admiring stranger gratified my feminine self-esteem. And the laughter with my daughter filled my heart with joy.
But we can't just absorb the joy. Pain must take its place or it will haunt us, felt later like lances in the heart. The minor inconveniences, the brief snippy comments between mother and daughter due to fatigue, my understanding of the years lost due to being out of touch with my family: all of these are a part of me too. I love these moments also. They did not dim my happiness. They were the salt to the sweetness, giving inflection to the song in my heart.
Maybe that is why we love. Maybe we know that life is a singular moment to experience the world in its fullness. Just a blip in time before we return to that place from which we came.
We came from darkness; then our consciousness brought light to our world. In the end, we return to darkness again. And in between, as we look at all the colors, textures, and flavors of the world, we think: what a wonderful world this is.
Regarding the good and the bad, there can only be one answer: we must love it all, whole heartedly, unabashedly, with fervor.
So, grab this world. Kiss it, hug it close, and whisper: I love you -- Everything. Everywhere. All at Once.
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