I didn’t love you.
You had not fulfilled all the required conditions of my conditional love for you.
I may learn to forgive you and my anger may subside.
However, every time I’m reminded of how you’ve failed to meet my expectations – whether I’ve communicated them or not – my rage swells up, throwing up more bitterness to tarnish the shore between our persons.
Your impersonal indifference to the superficial manifestation or absence of my loving attention, anger, forgiveness, and bitterness… It Woke me up to something greater. It woke me up to the utter irrelevance of somebody else’s disappointed expectations of oneself.
It woke me up the jagged selfishness of my wilfulness and the uncompromising requirements and conditions of my petty conditional love.
My love, my anger, my conditions, my forgiveness – all my selfish demands, of my small disconnected inner life that prioritizes my personal happiness, are utterly barren. There is no life in them only death: no joy, no love, no giving, no mercy, no truth, no oneness, no divinity.
As I learn to lay down my selfishness, my demands, and the conditions I place on giving and receiving love – I have passed through a great life-gate, a passageway in a human life – I pass into a world where love is space – where it is ever-present and not scarce. Where there is always enough love and I am self-fulfilled and my petty demands and selfish conditions drop away like the hunger of a lowly caterpillar heart transformed into a winged light.
I don’t know where it goes from here.
How many more great gates of life come after, and what new unknown vistas of loving sentience will open up and to whom this will all unfold.
The desires of the person – the entity of this single lifetime – and of personal consciousness itself: to be a person and act as an agent in the material world – they happen to no one – they are coils of consciousness seeking the realization of this or that experience – serpents seeking incarnations – of no one – impersonal – like the kinetic potential of mountain scree.
Of its own accord, personal consciousness will pivot within, tired as it is, of pouring itself into an infinite void of transient unsatisfying forms. Like a salmon’s uncontrollable thirst for the freshwater of its source – the inevitability of this journey home does not require faith.