Transformation Of Love

2024 Author: Harry Day | [email protected]. Last modified: 2023-12-17 15:43

Let me tell you about love. Not about someone else. About my own. As far as I can remember, the main informational message that accompanied me since childhood is the message that the whole meaning of human existence is in love. And I knew there was a specific love. Love for the Motherland, mother and grandmother, later, love for a man. Moreover, at a certain age, love for a man was supposed to overshadow all other loves. From books, songs, poems, conversations of people, it was clear that if you love a man, and he loves you, everything, there is something to live for. Life made sense. And if such joy did not happen to you, then the meaning did not come even on your doorstep to stand. For a long time I have lived with just such an understanding of the context of love. Then the Internet, Osho, parapsychological communities appeared, people who were believers and not so much were legalized, and the stream of speeches about the great meaning of intersexual love was joined by a stream of speeches about love for people and life in general. I saw all this, listened and read. I passed it through my ears and convolutions and felt that I was a misanthrope, introvert, social phobia, and in general I was in a house. I loved only my husband, about a dozen more people who were part of the closest social circle, I was afraid of the rest, avoided and hated, like semolina and beets. My love had to be earned, and with a favorable outcome of efforts, then fight for it. The scheme looked like this: fight for the right to begin to deserve - deserve - fight in order to preserve. Something fell out of the triad - that's it, come on, bye, goodbye.. Needless to say, that I myself was just so taught to get love for myself in battles. I tried, served and fought. Favorite joke - "the camel has two humps, because life is a struggle." Do you smell it? What else could be more relevant and closer to this couplet? It explains everything. Struggle = love = life. In general, the "Gadfly" is solid.

And then, when there was no strength to fight, when the battery of vital energy was almost dry, it was then, at the most important and necessary moment of my life, that I heard about self-love. Apologists of other loves angrily declared self-love as selfishness, seasoning it with the word "terry". It was tempting and embarrassing to start loving yourself. But I, overpowering shame and fear, went into self-love according to the typical scheme: earn and fight. I sang to myself "you are alone with me, like the moon in the night …" and smeared my ass with anti-cellulite cream. Here I will get rid of cellulite, I will overcome, and I will be worthy of my own love. After some time, rather quickly, because I am not a stupid girl, it became clear that self-love is not only fitness and regular visits to a beautician and masseur. With all the designated set, it turned out that the main content of self-love is to stop kicking and raping yourself. It turned out that there are plenty of reasons for violence and kicks, and the main one is who I am. And the way I am is the cause of dislike, the cause of violence against oneself in an epileptic, hysterical attempt to make oneself someone else, one's own modified, perfected copy. I saw and was horrified how, breaking myself, I break and beat others. Anyone that appears in my field of vision and ability to reach. How painful and scary it was to realize and admit that, walking towards mythical love, I walked away with leaps and bounds from real love, the beginning of which is not in my homeland, no longer in my mother, and not in a man, but in myself. I saw myself so small and defenseless in front of myself, punishing and cruel to myself and all living things. This small, cornered, wounded part of me turned out to be the most alive. Crippled but desperately clinging to life. My external, dead, stony "I" looked at her with cold empty eyes, despising and disdaining her. But the drop of life that was found, capable of generating and giving off heat, did not let go of the petrified me. It took a while. It is a lot of time for the stone desert to turn into a fertile land, in the field of which the ability to love was raised from an embryonic state.

I was walking the other day along a city street. I walked calmly and relaxed. I looked at the people around. I wanted to look at them. I smiled outside and inside. I listened to myself and heard that Love is an experience of Life, it starts inside, from myself. And where I am, where I allowed myself to just be, there is a place for others. Different. There are still people who I like very much and who do not like at all. And then I choose to whom to be closer, and from whom to move away, leaving him the right to be who he is. I caught myself suddenly not wanting to judge anyone. Never. All I can and want is only to regret. Not a person to feel sorry for, there are those who are not sorry, but to regret that they have like this, but it could have been otherwise. And probably, this is the highest meaning of Love, love, as God's grace, given to a person, first of all, to himself, created in the image and likeness of the Almighty. And only then is it possible to love your neighbor as yourself. And is it worth calling a person an egoist, inside whom Love blooms and life flows, which he can generously share with others, not emptying himself, but only multiplying this wonderful stream.