Being loved. Being devoted to. Having people devoted to you, Knowing you. Knowing who you are. So deeply.And loving and caring and wanting to know and wanting to give to you and care for you .Even when you no longer are able to do the same for them.
Is almost as painful as beauty is , from all that is good and lovely and remarkable, in the world.
It causes you to bump into all that never happened. All the times there was none of this. None of this love.
You slowly learn to open your heart ,and accept it; without giving back the same or more.
In the past, knowing you've made a good deposit and are safe, for now. it seems that's what the feeling is- of mistaking security for giving more than you receive. Or trying to. Or feeling like you are. Mistakenly seeing things from that odd, not so , perspective.
How challenging, to old assumptions and acrid learned ways ,from so long ago.
Things change, and we can't always do what we once did. If we are blessed to live long enough , this becomes an inevitability. If we become ill unexpectedly, it happens sooner
And it still remains satisfying and meaningful and lovely for people to know you.
To care for you.To care about you.To think of you.To give to you. Over and over and over. Here is the astonishing complexity. The astounding reality. And at the very same time, so it is so very painful.
Because here we are. Being loved. Accepted. Delighted in. Despite not being able to give back the way we would like.
It's a stark contradiction. A stark contradiction to everything some of us were taught growing up , about who we were. What we were and were not worth. And how and why. A marked contradiction.
And in order to accept this. With grace and gratitude. Necessitates acknowledging, bit by bit, the times of no love. The times of cruelty.
To hold them in our arms, those sad times, And love them and care for them, so that as we comfort them, and bear witness , they compost. Each and every time.
They fall into little pieces, and then our arms empty.
We unfold our arms away from us , and one more sad tragic cold moment fades into the universe, into God's love, into All That Is.
It composts. And becomes something new. It transforms, it does. By our very awareness. Our beloved consciousness. Into a rich new fertilizer. A nourishing healing fertilizer. For All That Is.
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