Then I was hit by a new emotion. It was a pleasent emotion, as feeling safe. It was something connected with love, self love, and a general satisfaction. As being generally ok with my life. As if all the things that were happening to me where not really important. As if the only important thing was that I was alive. And I was ok. I was ok with life. I was ok with my own life, with existance. It wasn’t the girl that could obfuscate this feeling. Nor her games, her yes-no-maybe. Nothing of this counted. All at once all this was unimportant. As was unimportant the stress. The difficulties at home. The people who sulk at me, or the ones who would naturally smile. Even this was irrelevant. And I was relaxed, although a bit surprised. And then greatly surprised that I could not find a single adjective that would describe the feeling. The internal light? Inner happiness, maybe. Love is the nearest description. But not love for someone, or something. Nor love for a situation, an event. A love that was not tied by anything, but by existance itself. A love for me, but not the little me, the big one. That one that subsumes myself, and my whole life, and others too. That one that feels pain directly when I harm another being. And that is then the source of the pain I then feel. All this I felt, and all this I tried to express, and untangle. But for what reason?
Life just is, and is ok so.
I love you.
I love you reader, I don’t know you, but I still love you. I am happy that you exist, whatever is happening to you, is ok. Many terrible things, and happy too. And yet all is ok. rape and torture. death, and life, and love, and happiness, and winning the lottery, and losing all. Is all ok, because all just is.
Here, I got it, finally. I was hit by a feeling, a feeling that all just was and I was happy with it. And out of this relaxed happiness a feeling of natural love for the whole of existance surged. A love that was for the whole but was then differentiated as it hit the greatly diverse world.
I love you.
Just a man.
