So I'm on my spiritual trip. I wander along the seashore, (yes, very conveniently there happened to be one to aid my thought process) thinking. Not about anything in particular, not with purpose, not with reason, just thinking. Is freedom really possible? I think and I think till the mind dies, the spirit shrinks and the soul wants to go to sleep. I have no answers, just questions.
I meet my sister later in the day. After the usual exchange of pleasantries, we're back being argumentative. We discuss about the ill effects of smoking and how one can love with detachment. I pause and I wonder. The love between young lovers, old lovers, the love of the master to his slave or his pet, the love of a mother towards her child, love for blueberry cheesecake, love for classical music, love for being in love, love for making love, love for being loved and the love for love. So much love around us and we're a race at war all the time. Enough said. Something strikes me. All these forms of love are perceived through the senses. We need the senses. We need them to feel that love within us. But what if love cant be realized at all? Does it cease to exist? I don't want to think it does. But I don't know for sure. Maybe love is just a feeling that exists without perception. Maybe it's all in the head, in its purest form. And then we fill that space with all kinds of material till it gets a little too hot in there for our soul to expand. We probably think we need all that stuff for love to survive, not realizing that we're becoming more and more bound. Maybe that's that point we often say that we're "growing out of love". Maybe we have drowned the actual love so deep, beyond hope for recovery, that we only see what's hovering over it. In effect, we have objectified love. We have lost our independence to love. In fact, we don't even know what it is going to take to free it.
It is true. Freedom is an illusion. We are all hopelessly bound. I have figured it all out, which is nothing short of genius. My sister disagrees relentlessly. Time for some Indian chai from the western cafe, I figure. She agrees on that one. So much for a brother's love for his sister. I walk away.
I meet my sister later in the day. After the usual exchange of pleasantries, we're back being argumentative. We discuss about the ill effects of smoking and how one can love with detachment. I pause and I wonder. The love between young lovers, old lovers, the love of the master to his slave or his pet, the love of a mother towards her child, love for blueberry cheesecake, love for classical music, love for being in love, love for making love, love for being loved and the love for love. So much love around us and we're a race at war all the time. Enough said. Something strikes me. All these forms of love are perceived through the senses. We need the senses. We need them to feel that love within us. But what if love cant be realized at all? Does it cease to exist? I don't want to think it does. But I don't know for sure. Maybe love is just a feeling that exists without perception. Maybe it's all in the head, in its purest form. And then we fill that space with all kinds of material till it gets a little too hot in there for our soul to expand. We probably think we need all that stuff for love to survive, not realizing that we're becoming more and more bound. Maybe that's that point we often say that we're "growing out of love". Maybe we have drowned the actual love so deep, beyond hope for recovery, that we only see what's hovering over it. In effect, we have objectified love. We have lost our independence to love. In fact, we don't even know what it is going to take to free it.
It is true. Freedom is an illusion. We are all hopelessly bound. I have figured it all out, which is nothing short of genius. My sister disagrees relentlessly. Time for some Indian chai from the western cafe, I figure. She agrees on that one. So much for a brother's love for his sister. I walk away.
