I already notice with my comment that I'm poised to deflate--that my barbs are tense against the brittle shards of my past ideals--sorry about that, but the pun was too ripe.
I always tend to make the effort at repairing--that's what it means to me to be human. It's not a final definition, but a determinate will to hold space for the constant surprise at one another's hidden greatness.
Subsequently I can be more authentic to the meaning of love, spirituality, and sexuality by treating them on an individual level. I've never suffered more in love than at the hands of its strong-definition.
The people with the least humanity, conversely, form definitions and either rig systems to succeed by them, and/or they become jaded and lost in the ocean of desires.
I think humanity and kindness toward everyone are natural, but love in its deepest form is different. Real love is not something endlessly divisible. When you truly love one person, your soul settles there. That connection becomes complete in itself.
People today often confuse desire, attention, and emotional convenience with love. They speak about loving many people at once as if love were just an expandable feeling. But genuine love demands devotion, exclusivity, and surrender. If your heart is fully with one person, there is no inner need to search for many others in the same way.
To me, loving everyone equally is an abstract ideal; loving one person deeply and remaining loyal to that bond feels more human and more natural. One true love is enough because depth matters more than quantity.
In this world of starving souls and naked desires, a world of which I, too, am a part, I still choose to see love as something sacred, almost ideal. Yet living among people has taught me that human beings are forever imperfect, no matter how beautiful the definitions they write for humanity, love, or morality may sound.
Most definitions are not born from truth, but from the quiet need to hide one’s own emptiness, contradictions, or wounds. People create philosophies the way broken walls wear paint, not always to reveal themselves, but often to conceal the cracks underneath.
And perhaps that is why genuine love feels so rare. Because real love demands honesty before poetry, surrender before performance, and depth before explanation.
Blanche Delarue
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•woah...Goya made a similar painting half a century before!
The Flight of the Witches:
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Guillaume F
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jreboul2
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•@snick
I already notice with my comment that I'm poised to deflate--that my barbs are tense against the brittle shards of my past ideals--sorry about that, but the pun was too ripe.
I always tend to make the effort at repairing--that's what it means to me to be human. It's not a final definition, but a determinate will to hold space for the constant surprise at one another's hidden greatness.
Subsequently I can be more authentic to the meaning of love, spirituality, and sexuality by treating them on an individual level. I've never suffered more in love than at the hands of its strong-definition.
The people with the least humanity, conversely, form definitions and either rig systems to succeed by them, and/or they become jaded and lost in the ocean of desires.
snick
•@unmittelbar
I think humanity and kindness toward everyone are natural, but love in its deepest form is different. Real love is not something endlessly divisible. When you truly love one person, your soul settles there. That connection becomes complete in itself.
People today often confuse desire, attention, and emotional convenience with love. They speak about loving many people at once as if love were just an expandable feeling. But genuine love demands devotion, exclusivity, and surrender. If your heart is fully with one person, there is no inner need to search for many others in the same way.
To me, loving everyone equally is an abstract ideal; loving one person deeply and remaining loyal to that bond feels more human and more natural. One true love is enough because depth matters more than quantity.
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Syl, Blanche Delarue, Chris Malik and snick like this.
snick
•In this world of starving souls and naked desires, a world of which I, too, am a part, I still choose to see love as something sacred, almost ideal. Yet living among people has taught me that human beings are forever imperfect, no matter how beautiful the definitions they write for humanity, love, or morality may sound.
Most definitions are not born from truth, but from the quiet need to hide one’s own emptiness, contradictions, or wounds. People create philosophies the way broken walls wear paint, not always to reveal themselves, but often to conceal the cracks underneath.
And perhaps that is why genuine love feels so rare. Because real love demands honesty before poetry, surrender before performance, and depth before explanation.
like this
Syl, snick, Willy 81 and Chris Malik like this.