A Quest

 

It’s a good thing I have a dog, a really sweet heart of a dog, who lets me love on her, petting her for as long as I wish, and then, without guilt, I can come back inside and ignore her as she yelps lightly, trying to get me back out there to play with her.

Isn’t this why we get a dog, instead of having a committed relationship, so we have an outlet for all our unexpressed love, our need to touch somebody, feel loved in return, and then, without guilt, return to our little shells to breathe freely, renewed for a bit?

I mean, come on, let’s be truthful, or I will, in any case.

I have a deep need to share.

If it is shared conversation, that’s good, particularly if both parties are engaged, listening to each other. The topic of conversation does not matter all that much, however, for me. I am most interested in one’s personal stories, and not particularly interested in ideas regarding stuff such as the latest fashion, or who is the latest star in Hollywood or Nashville. I am a good listener, usually (unless I get overly excited, and then I catch myself interrupting, wanting to share my enthusiasm, to let someone know I hear them, although I can sometimes take off on a tangent). The truth is, I have been so starved most of my life for shared communication, when it happens, I am overcome with joy and feel like a geyser about to erupt forth and spew steaming hot water all over the person telling me about him/herself. And I am not very good at hiding my enthusiasm. I could easily frighten another, especially anyone not aware of their own fears, who might also have just as strong a need to share but has pushed the need down so deeply so as to appear “normal,” “on top of it.” How “uncool” is it to have such an unbalanced response to another’s sharing!

It is, apparently, not unusual for many to feel starved. Perhaps this is the reason we have our addictions. Mine are eating and smoking, and were I to allow myself, another might be alcohol, although I learned many years ago that too much alcohol left me feeling too ill, just a few days later, so I never got into it. Perhaps sex is another addiction. When I think of all the people here who have pushed themselves on others and ended up accused of rape, incest, nymphomania, narcissism, I sense this untoward activity as manifestations of being starved: starved for affection as a child, starved due to never being heard, being shoved aside as inconsequential, starved for having never had emotional support, starved in their brains by never experiencing anything new. The addictions can get out of control and the addicted one might inevitably self-annihilate because underneath it all, there is this unbelievable love that is unexpressed, replaced by fear so deep in ones cells that this energy becomes perverted. It is the reason, I surmise, war exists. Love was denied.

Is this the reason war is happening, for too many years now? We can have our ideals such as democracy, justice, vengeance, unmitigated need for control. We are all victims of our need for love, the unconditional, impersonal, universal love that dwells within each of us, that which is experienced upon the birth of a new soul, a little baby come forth from, sometimes, a shared glorious exchange of love, when surrender happens, trust is, and Bingo! A new soul has waited for this moment to jump into the third dimension and take another chance at being the channel for this love that IS. The souls who come in through the aberration of this love (rape, incest, only sex) are wanting to be here, whether or not they remember, and will spend their lives trying to find this love that is the foundation of their Being.

This is what I have found to be the truth of my own purpose in being here this time. My life is a quest for love. Having succumbed to my own conditioning, I have gone into retreat such that I stay isolated. I delve into the seeming abyss of Self, hoping I will manage to leap across the abyss to fathoming why I ever came back here, to be alone, to search and search within myself for an answer to my self-imposed isolation.
I finally “get it.” I am a momentary manifestation of the need to live in love. That is all.

When the time comes to leave this short life here, I will whisper a prayer to All That Is to please help the human species remember why we are here: to Live in Love, to be kind to each other, to show compassion, to let go fear and discover the well of love within each of us that heals all.

In the meantime, I will let the cat in, feed the animals, play with the puppy, and sit here quietly, cognizant of the blessings I know in this life: friends and family who seem to care, a couple of sweet dogs to pet, a roof over my head, words with which to express, a fire in the wood stove keeping at bay the damp, cool fall air seeping into this leaky cabin I call home, the quiet I hear and the peace I feel, Love.

May all Be well.

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