When the moon hits your eyes like a big pizza pie, That’s Amore..
“A loving heart is the beginning of all knowledge”
There is this one definition that initiates correspondence on a romantic encounter… the most debated question explained by hundreds of souls in a hundred different ways in a hundred different languages using an infinite combination of words, and yet, still, we discuss and question what it is that love is, and even, whether such a thing exists outside the mind of the lost idealist.
And as humans we gravitate towards such a lost idealism… in movies or stories to love others as we would ourselves… to love ourselves as we would anything pious, pure, and beautiful.
The sadness brought on by the vision of a guilt immersed man who is brought to his knees in a solitary moment of loneliness. He stares at the blank wall and begins to cry, and somewhere in our hearts, from a place we cannot name, we want to make his pain go away. His pain makes us feel alive… it activates us.
The nature of love is defined by the cruel as cruelty, by the selfless as selflessness, by the scolding as punishment. But love for others can be simply defined through the knowledge of one’s love for oneself… this, once completed, provides us the footprint to project unto others.
And so, this love, what is it to love oneself? It is presumable that we wish to love ourselves… it is our nature to love ourselves yet we do not love ourselves. Something is lost from our childhood when we would cry for our needs and had the complete freedom of a lack of repression.
And so, the nature of the change from childhood to adulthood can be described by the wicked years of teenage youth… when we are taught to repress our hearts. To sit in order, to learn in order, to speak in order. To walk in line, dress in line, think in line… by our superiors, by our peers, by our television and our music and our heroes.
Yet, as adults, conformed to the lifestyle that is fit around us, we are awakened when moments wrap their hands around our hearts and jolt them to life… pulsating with direction, with an ache to move like water down a stream.
The nature of love… to be able to love… to follow the distinct path set for us by our unique place in this universe. To be free. To be free to love our unique place in this universe.
And so, if this is love, then the nature of love is to care for ourselves as such. The nature of love, therefore, is to aid our loved ones in achieving the same miraculous feat.
The freedom to love ourselves without the guards of repression. The freedom to love ourselves, is the nature of love. Every derivation of the action of love… technological advancement, psychological advancement, economic advancement… it is the nature of love if it helps us be free to love ourselves. To be free of responsibility, of pain, of sorrow… to be free to expand and touch others with this love.
The nature of love… the freedom to love oneself. And… so loving is the act of sharing the knowledge that may free another to do so themselves. So loving can be the nature of love when one can look in the mirror and be pleased with what they see… for they are free to love their wrinkles and hair and lips and eyes and eyebrows and teeth… Such a feeling does not instigate gratitude.
It instigates love.
Yet have you ever discovered something that you had no idea existed before, and like this ancient old pirate ship chest, instead of the Golden Rubies and Diamond Encrusted rings, you find a bleeding heart, pulsating, choking, wheezing on it’s back, calling out for help and thrashing with the last remnants of its life force, and you look at it and you’re like, “Geez buddy… You’re pretty fucked up right there.”
Yet you still love it with all its pros & cons, it’s what defines you and you define it.
Once you are convinced with the thought, you take a deep breath in.
And then you breathe out.
And it’s the first breath you took in a long ass time with a proper lover’s understanding.
~A spoken word is a moment. A written word is eternal~