You’ve got it all wrong.
You didn’t come here to master unconditional love. This is where you came from and where you’ll return.
You came here to learn personal love.
Infused with divinity.
Lived through the grace of stumbling.
Demonstrated through the beauty of… messing up.
You didn’t come here to be perfect, you already are.
You came here to be gorgeously human. Flawed and fabulous.
And rising again into remembering.
But unconditional love? Stop telling that story.
Love in truth doesn’t need any adjectives.
It doesn’t require modifiers.
It doesn’t require the condition of perfection.
It only asks you to show up.
And do your best.
That you stay present and feel fully.
That you shine and fly and laugh and cry and hurt and heal and fall and get back up and play and work and live and die as YOU.
It’s Plenty.”—Courtney A. Walsh (via ahyasidi)
There are times I look in the mirror and think wow, I actually look decent until I remember a study I once read concluding that human beings see themselves as 10x more attractive in the mirror than they actually are so then I just realize oh, I just look less shitty.
A mother’s loving embrace has no comparison. Strong but soft. There is firmness, a solid foundation of love that no storm can shake. Yet still, there is tenderness; compassion spilling over like your tears, the scent of her skin, her glowing warmth, her deep heartbeat echoing against your eardrum. You are home again, cuddled up, and she kisses your head and she holds you tight. She held you this way when you were small and helpless, she holds you this way when you are grown and lost.
Faux pas of the century: trying to type up the remnants of a deeply personal and psychologically confusing dream in a draft (to peruse at a later time when you’re more fully awake and not running late for work) only to find out 12hrs later that you’d *actually* posted it on a public platform for all your followers to read.
I have to dig deeper, search harder for some sort of inner strength, a truth that I know but can’t remember.
It’s a painful journey. It hurts because you begin to realise you are not who you thought you were. That pristine image you had in your head was just an illusion. You’re looking into your metaphorical mirror and what you see is quite ugly, weak, pitiful.
You’ve read about this so-called journey, heard about it, in books, on the telly, in the movies, in music, in casual conversations over coffee.
But now you’re starting to see it. Not only see it but experience it. That wretchedness that comes with a fall. Your lowliness, the gaps - oh God, the gaps! - in your very being. The disconnect between your goals and your reality. Perhaps realising you don’t really have any solid goals to begin with. You’re kinda coasting along, not quite present in the moment, just vaguely living in the watery near-future.
It seems bleak but you know that it will pass. It has to because nothing lasts. It’s not even about good days or bad days. They are just days.
The knowledge of love is coming. Be patient. Work hard but be patient.
"I’ll tell you what is harder than dying in Gaza by an Israeli missile deluxe. What is harder is that you get a phone call from the Israeli army telling you toevacuate your home because it will be bombed in ten minutes. Imagine; ten minutes; and your whole short history on the…
"…and you leave your home to die a thousand times, or refuse to leave and die once."
“Sometimes I think it’s rather odd the way we have dropped “I” from elements of our conversation when talking about ourselves. “I love you,” “I miss you” have been transformed into “Love you” and “Miss you.” Makes me wonder if the latter is a product of a mind that is apprehensive of commitment. It’s easier to charge some elusive entity with the task of loving another than actually doing the loving. Outsourcing our emotions. In turn it makes it easier for us to claim love for people we don’t actually love and longing for people we may not truly long for because at the end of the day I never said “I loved you,” but rather “Love you.” Unless, of course, we’re expressing some sort of annihilation in the love that no longer sees the self but only sees the love and the beloved. But this I doubt.”—@Faatimahknight (via nuriddeenknight)