A Mother's Love

Every year, during the first weekend in August, tens of thousands of Vietnamese-Americans descend on the small town of Carthage, Missouri to honor the Virgin Mary for helping Vietnamese boat refugees safely reach the United States more than thirty-five years earlier.

One of those refugees was Michael Vu, who now lives in Dallas, Texas. He was “eight or nine years old” when he fled Vietnam with his family. “My dad orchestrated our escape. My oldest brother left first, trying to go before us and prepare for us. His name was Vu Quang Thanh and unfortunately the China Sea took his life. He was on a boat with about 100 people, and they all perished, they were never found. His name is on the wall in the Prayer Garden. My dad is still looking for him, still hopes to find him, but I believe he’s dead.” Michael Vu shared this story while searching for his brother’s name among thousands of others on plaques in the Prayer Garden.

“When the priests here at the Carthage Congregation say daily mass, they pray for these names in this Prayer Garden. They are both the dead and the living. People who need prayer in their lives. For people still in Vietnam who live under hardship, who weren’t fortunate enough to be able to come here. This is the best place to come and pray for them. Family members gather here every year and pray for one another,” Michael said.

The Congregation of the Mother Co-Redemptrix organizes and hosts the gathering each year on their grounds in Carthage for one simple reason: the Congregation shares the same harrowing story as do the attendees. In Vietnam in 1975, under orders from their superior, this group of priests and brothers jumped into boats and headed out into the open sea. In the midst of chaos and gunfire, all the members of the Congregation of the Mother Co-Redemptrix escaped and eventually made it safely to the shores of the United States.

Though members of the Congregation were scattered in refugee camps and on military bases, they were eventually reunited on an un-used seminary campus in Carthage, Missouri. In 1977, a couple of hundred Vietnamese from nearby cities like Kansas City, St. Louis and Springfield gathered on the seminary campus in Carthage for a day of recollection to express devotion to the Virgin Mary. The numbers began doubling each year, until now approximately 70,000 Vietnamese-Americans make the pilgrimage to Carthage to honor the Virgin Mary along with the Congregation.

“We have a very strong devotion to the Virgin Mary,” Michael Vu agreed. “As we left Vietnam, we prayed to Mary to take care of us. We had a priest on our boat. We had two boats of people. There was a curfew in Vietnam, so we left at dawn. As we left, sirens started going off. North Vietnamese soldiers stopped us. There were about 60 to 70 children below, including me. The soldiers came aboard and questioned us. The priest said, “We’re hungry, and we’re going fishing.” There were fishing nets on the boat. The soldiers let us leave. We believe that praying to the Virgin Mary helped us escape Vietnam. Everyone on the boat believes it was a miracle we escaped. We arrived in Huntington Beach, CA We moved to Wichita Falls TX and we heard about Marian Days there. We felt like we had to go. We go every year. We’ve never stopped. We will definitely be here as long as they have it. It renews our spiritual life. Everyone who comes here has the same unity in their heart, one goal, devotion to Mary. It helps us through the year. It has helped us adjust here in the U.S. We didn’t know anyone, we didn’t know English. There are seven surviving brothers and two sisters in our family, and every one of us received a four-year college degree in the U.S., except for the youngest son who has Down Syndrome.”

Over time, “Marian Days” has become a cultural event attracting parishes, families, and communities from all over the United States. Included in the festivities are Vietnamese food, both traditional and contemporary music, open-air confessions and masses on sloping lawns, speakers scheduled over several days, and a procession through the town with a statue of Our Lady of Fatima. And although the Congregation hosts the event, volunteers from parishes across the United States do much of the work, including staffing the endless restaurants and food stalls sprawled beneath tent awnings.

Marian Days, while growing from 200 to 70,000 attendees, has evolved over the years and included some growing pains. At one time, wall-to-wall people elbowed for a space to sleep on the seminary grounds and spilled over into the small, bewildered town--and at times the socializing aspect threatened to overshadow the spiritual one. But many of the social tensions have been resolved and the facilities expanded and upgraded, including the addition of showers, restrooms, a Prayer Garden, Stations of the Cross, and the Vietnamese Martyrs Auditorium. In addition to camping out in tents on the seminary grounds or filling nearby motels, attendees also set up tents on the lawns of welcoming locals, some of whom invite the same families into their backyards year after year. Jim Kerr is one of the locals who likes to attend every year “so we can eat something exceptional. I just ate pork intestines and it was very good. We love the Vietnamese iced coffee with sweetened condensed milk.”

His wife Amy recalled, “One year it was raining. We were with our three daughters. We were getting rained on. A teen boy called over several of his friends with umbrellas—they escorted us to the food and kept us dry. One of our daughters grew up going to this, and got to know the people at the parish who run this restaurant (Queen of Vietnam Church in Port Arthur TX). After she was grown, she moved to the Port Arthur area and knows the same people there now.” Doug Huynh from Hastings Nebraska fled Vietnam in 1975 when he was eighteen. But he says Marian Days is about more than the past. “When you have a hard time now, you ask Mary for blessing. We come to visit her, to pay our respects and agree to come back. There are Vietnamese from all 50 states, Canada and Australia. We meet other Vietnamese people from all around the country. Some families drive 24 hours—8 hours is easy, we can’t complain. My mother-in-law listens to Bible talks and talks by priests. My kids like to hang out with other kids. There is good Vietnamese food.” Tai Le is one of the teenage boys from Queen of Vietnam Church in Port Arthur who comes every year to work in his parish’s Marian Days restaurant. “Our parish has a sign-up sheet and we volunteer to work here to raise funds for our church. We also come for the experience of meeting other people and to get to know our faith. The elderly here share their stories and they explain we should go back to Vietnam to learn our history. They tell us you should know history or it will repeat itself. My mother is very devoted to Mary. I choose to go to church every morning at 6 am at home. I don’t expect any rewards when I come here. I just come here to serve others.”

Duyen Nguyen from Arlington TX was blinded in a car accident. “Since 2000, my parents have come to pray for me. Miracles do happen. The doctors said I might see again. One day perhaps I will see again and God will bless me with a miracle. We go to mass here and everything. We go to retreats to listen to speakers. We go to pray and bless ourselves with holy water. Our parents volunteer here. Our church runs a restaurant here. Parishioners volunteer, raise funds for church. We also come for fun.” Daniel Tran of Rochester, Minnesota floated in a canoe with 29 people for 20 days before reaching Hong Kong. Although a Buddhist at the time, he now attends Marian Days every year as a Catholic with his wife. Indeed, his wife, Yen-Huong, says many Buddhists come to Marian Days as well. Also posted on Strange Islands

Off the Map

I have pictures, bathed in light, from a land that lies off the map, and after I left, sparkling letters still reached me. They were letters written in such charmingly flawed English that it seemed a crime to correct them, even though the students begged me to.
I hope you are quite well. I am in the very pink of health. I would like to write so many about but my English is very poor. Therefore, may I stop here.
Even though it was some years ago that I visited, I still remember one day in particular. We start the day by squeezing into a Jeep that strains to climb a mountain. We cross wooden plank bridges and pass local people on bicycle and foot, toting burdens on their backs or across their handlebars. Our destination is a community of nuns who runs a distant boarding school high up in the mountain. The purpose of the boarding schools, with their dirt floors and outhouses and lack of electricity, is to provide an education for the most impoverished and isolated children in the rural areas, who might have no access to education otherwise.

“They’ll try to feed us, but I’ll tell them we brought our own food,” our guide tells us. “They are too poor to feed us.”
When we arrive, the nun who welcomes us at the door looks bewildered, and she says something startling.
“I didn’t dream you were coming.”
She notices our confused reaction, and explains. “I always dream when visitors are coming, and we prepare for them. But I didn’t dream about you.” She shakes her head, perplexed, as if her own mystical version of e-mail is growing unreliable.
“I’m glad you didn’t dream we were coming,” our guide chides. “Because then you would have prepared us a meal.”
The nun still proceeds to cut open some fruit for us, and children who attend the boarding school draw us by the hand and lead us down an overgrown path to the outhouse. This school is the most isolated and impoverished place I visit, and the crude bamboo structures and sweet children and hardworking nuns are even more diminished by the soaring mountains and roaring rivers that surround them. Struggling nuns and needy children seem to spring from this wilderness like fragile wildflowers, as unknown to the outside world as they are humble and holy.

On the way down the mountain, the Jeep breaks down three different times. Each time it clanks to a disappointing stop, we pour out onto the road. The final time we emerge, it’s growing dark. We’re on a narrow road in lush forest, and the mosquitoes are starting to hum. A folk remedy for malaria involves scraping the flesh on the neck until raw, red stripes decorate the sufferer’s throat.
“Why do you scrape your throats that way?” I ask.
“The pain of this scraping experience causes you to forget about the fever of malaria,” a student cheerfully explains.

This “remote rural region” is absurdly busy. Passers-by on foot and bike, instead of passing by, stop to inspect our plight. An increasing number of men gather around the Jeep’s engine, poke at it, and make conversation. The women and children gather around us. I can’t understand a word anybody says, but everyone smiles a lot. I have no idea where all these people live, because there is only forest all around. After a while, a man and his elephant walk past. The elephant is draped in chains, and I wonder if it could tow the Jeep. The elephant, though, disappears from sight, heading into the mountains in the gathering gloom. At some point it is agreed that this time, the Jeep is not going to budge. Our journey is stalled.
We are stuck in the mosquito-ridden jungle with our only means of transport a majestic, mournful elephant that is headed in the wrong direction. I’m haunted by the disappearing elephant because I know where he’s going. I’m aching to ride into the mountain darkness, into that nun’s dreams—because anyone can see she dwells with God. As an outsider, with virgin eyes, I saw immediately that this nun was a shining treasure in God’s heart. But the nun and I are separated by an impossible distance—for one thing, I have volunteered to be here. She has not. I’m just flitting through-like a bird, or a bug. She is more like a sheltering tree--this is where she was planted, and this is where she will die. Still, just by passing through this place, I’ve caught a glimpse of God-- the God who dwells on mountaintops with struggling nuns, who dwells with hungry children, who dwells with the abandoned and the forgotten. It’s time to hike out of the jungle, so I turn from the mountains, and we start walking down the road to town. Also posted on Strange Islands

4 years in India, 2 years of Shambhavi, 1 wandering woman

This September I’m commemorating the fourth anniversary of living in India. I don’t say celebrating, because it is a bittersweet landmark. Four years of intense soul-searching and questioning of life’s very fundamentals.

I can say with more confidence that I am celebrating my two year anniversary of attending the Inner Engineering program and being initiated into Shambhavi Maha Mudra, which has catapulted me on yet another journey–this time a never-ending inner one, facilitated by this and my other Isha Yoga practices. I can also saw with certainty that had it not been for this initiation, I would not have made it this long in India! Below, you can read more about this rocky journey…

“I don’t want to go,” I said as we were on the plane to India in July 2005. That was the first of many trips. But alas, there has been no turning back.

As I awoke this morning, the same nagging “I don’t want to be here” tormented me. I have a very strong escapist urge: to go back to the comfort and convenience of the West, where I’ve been for a mere two months.

It’s baffling to me how, before I left in July, my attitude was so different. I was as settled as I ever have been here. My mom says it’s human nature to adjust; people even got used to living in concentration camps. The parallel, though controversial, is somewhat appropriate. I’m both victim and agressor.

I spoke to Savira, a fellow blogger and yogini from Living Laughing Breathing, who is also re-adjusting to life in India. She aptly said that there’s a battle waging within me between the part of me that wants to be here and that which doesn’t. I’m not sure the two sides can ever be reconciled! This culture shock has taken me completely by surprise–I would’ve thought I was beyond it by now and nothing about India could phase me.

But it seems I’ve gone soft, lost my defences. The smells, the noises, the fear and utter disgust all bombard me like I’m back to square one. How can I actually be choosing this life over other, more sheltered, more straightforward ones? Even I’m baffled and can’t provide a rational answer.

Maybe my life should go back to normal, whatever that means. Maybe I should settle down and stop seeking more. Maybe I should start having clear goals. Maybe I should know what I want out of life and have a clear plan of how to get it. But I don’t know. Is that such a crime?!

This article is also published on my blog. Hope you join me there...

Swapping Roles

Sometimes I'm not sure who is the wisest in this Mother/Son game... hoot hoot...

“The value of marriage is not that adults produce children, but that children produce adults.” - Peter de Vries

I was having an online chat with my friend Juliette today, she always inspires me – she home-schools her son, runs an inspirational book store and is soon to go to America to do a workshop based upon ‘Nurturing Spirituality in Children’, with author of said book, Peggy Joy Jenkins.

She is so excited about this her words danced off the screen and did a square dance in my lounge room!

I confessed to Juliette that I was struggling to nurture the spirituality in Monte, though I desperately wish I could.

By that I mean  I want to nurture what is natural and authentic about him before modern and pop culture influence him to such a degree that he starts to lose sight of the very soul that he is, now.

The last couple of days have been challenging to say the least.

I’m not sure whether it’s because Monte has entered a new phase of independence or if I am just losing the plot or a combination of the two but suffice it to say mayhem has a new address.

Every new phase Monte enters, I enter one as well.

Traditionally, you think of raising the child as the parent teaching all they know to this innocent little being, and it is the parent that is all wise and knowing- but it is the opposite, my God it is the opposite.

I am the student and Monte is the teacher, massively.

In the last couple of days Monte has really been focusing on areas I need to develop: Patience and presence of mind.

To teach me these tough lessons he has come up with some really creative techniques.

1) Running around house with enormous knife from the dishwasher

2) Climbing onto Dining Table and standing up on it laughing

3) Eating a crayon

4) Using a pencil to eat an apple

5) Smudging yogurt on the couch

6) Screaming like he is auditioning for the Exorcist when I take something away from him or put him in the car, or … want him to go back to sleep at 5am.

So far, I have failed both my exams and my assignments in patience. In fact, I got a big fat D and a little note saying “You really need to cultivate presence of mind and patience, while Monte teaches you about these things, you are simultaneously teaching him through your reactions. See if you can rework them”

Since getting my D yesterday, of course, I have done what all failing Mothers do – berate themselves with the “I’m no good as a Mother,” “Why did I react how I did?” “I’m a horrible person” and yes, there have been some tears shed and some arms flung into the air with “I don’t know how to do this!”

But, thanks to Juliette and that fabulous quote she sent my way just when I needed it – I have looked for the lessons from Monte.

I am onto him, I am going to do a right back at ya lesson and show him that I can be patient, I can be present (and I can put the knives somewhere out of his reach).

I am going to be grateful that he has shone a light on areas that need improving and I am going to rise to the challenge by consciously improving them.

Sure, I could keep my arms flung in the air and keep the mantra ” I am no good at this” or I can embrace the challenge and cultivate what needs cultivating.

If I can pull this together and turn my impatience into patience and my non-presence into presence – I will be able to look Monte in the eye and confidently say “So, who is the teacher now?”

For more Sharnanigans please visit my website 

A look at spirituality...

For some, the quest for spirituality can be a confusing one. Often mistaken for religion, spirituality in itself is a completely different subject. Indeed the two can exist in harmony, but can also exist separate from one another in certain contexts. Spirituality has certain components that leverage belief systems, as well as navigate us toward what we search for.

As religion in itself is a collection of belief systems, a way to profess and practice one’s faith to that which they believe; spirituality can be a preceding step to religious practices. As religious practice focuses on connection to, and worship of, a chosen inspirational deity and observation of certain traditions, spirituality starts by the development of a “connection” in and of itself.

A main goal of spirituality is an awareness of how ego can infiltrate and interrupt an individual’s connection and presence. Ego strongly tries to concern us with issues of self, narrowing of our focus, and often accumulation of material things for personal identity. It is steeped in the core belief that we are what we have, what we do, and what others think of us. Spirituality on the other hand focuses on a connection beyond us exclusively, and attempts to dispel the ego’s core beliefs.

We find in spiritual practice and principle, that a connection beyond ourselves is paramount to personal harmony. We begin an attempt to connect to our true self. Not the self that has the things, that has the titles, and the achievements, but the self that is deep within us, who is the purer form of who we are. The being we would be if the material things, opinions, and worries of tomorrow were not in the picture.

We also begin to connect to others. With that comes a development of respect for others, and their right to be individuals with individual beliefs that work for them. Coupled with respect comes a compassion towards others and the desire to allow them to be as they are, but also to extend a hand and heart to those who need it regardless of background or beliefs. Through thought, prayer, and deed we can be in constant compassionate assistance to others, and in turn make our own world a much better place to live. This is not exclusive to humans, but also all living beings including the planet on which we live.

Finally and most importantly is a search for a connection to a divine place that gives us peace and guidance. Not only acting as a beacon in a storm, but the desire to see the intelligence behind the design, a promise for something beyond us, and that there is a Divine concern for all of us as part of a greater whole. It is this quest that often places a religious practice before us to further strengthen our spiritual connections and maps out a path for us to travel. Spirituality can lead us to our religious path; our religion supports our spirituality, and healthy cycles can develop.

It sometimes can be difficult for people to jump into a religious belief initially. It can be intimidating as it may encounter people’s issues within themselves they have yet to confront, and to compare themselves to a set of values and practices comfortably can take time. However, by starting with progressive awareness of connecting to one’s self, others, and then to a divine being may be an easier transition.

By connecting to ourselves, we can start to figure out what we feel we lack, and what we seek. By connecting to others, we can see we are not alone, others have wisdom that will assist us, and there is indeed strength in numbers. In seeking a connection to a Creator, Source, or Divine being, we extend our quest to yet another realm, place our faith into more capable hands, and find solace in ways to make sense of the senseless. Compassion towards others venturing down this very personal path is essential to making the journey an attractive one. Even though many may arrive at the same place; depending on where one starts will determine the lanes and detours they must take to eventually arrive alongside you.

Also found on Artisan of the Human Spirit by Tony Anders


(You can take a personal spirituality quiz here)

"Spiritual Battles..."

Have you ever begun a new project – particularly one that you sincerely hope will be of service or joy to others – only to be met with some sort of obstacle or negative energy?

I've actually experienced this several times throughout my life, and you would think by now that I would be tuned in to when I've let this enemy slip into my daily efforts and thoughts. I pose this problem as a person, because I firmly believe that he – "Satan," "the evil one," "the devil," "Beelzebub," "negative energy," "the dark force," (whatever you want to call it) – really exists, and in order to recognize and defend ourselves from the enemy, we must put a name to it and face it.

Surprisingly, it didn't occur to me until just this morning that my husband and I were facing this kind of “spiritual warfare” yet again. The devil has attempted numerous times to infiltrate our lives as a loving couple and tight-knit family unit. “Attacks” might seem like an extreme word to those who aren't familiar with wht the sneaky and furtive tactics of the devil can really mean, but I firmly believe that this is how he operates. Unless you are constantly on guard, feeding and nurturing the garden of your own faith, before you know it he has slipped into your life - interjecting negativity, hopelessness, anger and hatred into situations where you normally would stand strong in clear and proper judgment.

That's how he works. Personally, I don't believe the devil brings down plagues, earth-quakes, financial ruin or death. Because God has given us the gift of free will, the ability to make our own choices and decisions in dealing with what life hands us, we unfortunately have the ability to choose unwisely. And that's just what the “devil” is pushing us to do. While he probably didn't cause us to loose our job, wreck the car, or put someone else in a bad mood, he does try to “push the buttons” that cause us to react to these moments with negativity and without love. Then, he tries to keep us there – mired in the darkness of self-pity, doubt, fear, and hatred – away from the light and grace of love, peace and Joy.

I've previously written that our family has experienced some major hardships this past year. In a nutshell, over the last week our situation has continued and become worse. I admit this to you only to support and explain my recent absence from the page; it truly has become a battle for me and my family, and I apologize. While I can't read the future and still don't have all the answers, I have made additional discoveries and insight into why I've reacted to recent situations the way I have, and why my family continues to suffer.

Over the last several years, I've found that I am getting really good at directing my anger towards dirt. I'm not sure if my boys have really figured this out yet, but when I've been hit with yet another piece of bad news or situation beyond my control, I start to clean. Rather than screaming, I try very hard to just “get mad at the dirt,” and go around the house taking care of items that may not have been tidied up in a while. Not only is this kind of simple work therapeutic, I've realized it's one thing that I have “control” over. Usually after several minutes of vacuuming or dusting, my heart will start speaking to God, and I'll use that time to converse with Him about how I'm feeling.

My house is very tidy at the moment.

However, I've (we've) been bombarded with so much lately, that the cleaning hasn't totally eased the unrest and nervousness within my soul, and I let myself slip into a bit of depression. I literally haven't been able to focus, let alone write about anything “positive.”

It's become obvious to me that I've let Satan enter into these moments, and have let my “guard” down. We all used to come together pretty frequently for family prayer – particularly when we'd had disagreements or were concerned for other family members, etc. We also took time to give thanks for the joys and blessings we received.

You see, the devil doesn't want us to spend time in God's presence. When we choose to give thanks in all things, when we choose to focus on love and what's right in the world, Satan has no entry. It can be so easy to let ourselves slip into despair and apathy – we've all experienced these moments – after all, we're only human.

Upon the celebration of Ash Wednesday last week, our family signed up to participate in several activities during the Lenten season, designed to strengthen our devotion and faith during this time of preparation before Easter. Because of recent events, our desire to take part in anything has been very low, to say the least. Being very active in our faith community, we've encountered the devil's obstacles and attacks each time we've begun a service project or joined in any kind of activity meant to increase and strengthen our faith in God. I now see that Satan has tried to use this opportunity to break us, and keep us from fully experiencing God's love and mercy.

My positive message today? I'm not going to let it happen - I won't let Satan win. I'm not saying it's going to be a piece of cake, but it's possible. Life can and must continue. I can choose to continue to see God's Blessings around me each and every day.

"Faith is taking the first step even when you don’t see the whole staircase."

 ~Martin Luther King Jr.

Even amidst great tragedy, we can continue putting one foot in front of the other, day-by-day, week-by-week, year-by-year. By doing so life brightens before us, most times without us even realizing it. I was struck by a report on the early news this morning as I got ready to head out to work. Joannie Rochette, an Olympic figure-skater for Canada (their national champion as a matter of fact), found out only 2 days ago that her mother had died of a massive heart attack after arriving in Vancouver. This young lady has made the courageous decision to compete tonight, in spite of her tragedy and loss, knowing that her mother had been her biggest fan and supporter. It's not just a matter of willpower (although it helps). We have to continually practice trusting in God – His light is there to surround each step of our difficult journeys – all we have to do is ask Him to join us. We can find Joy in the fact that he will never leave us.

Though our options might not always seem clear, we always have a choice. Sometimes it seems so much easier to take the easy way out, by not doing "anything." Letting things be while we sit and stew about what we've done wrong, or who's wronged us, or the blows that life has dealt us won't carry us forward. While a good cry, cleaning the house from top to bottom, or maybe pounding out our frustrations on a construction project will help release the tension and stress we're feeling, eventually, we must continue on.

We can always find light and love in moving forward. By allowing Satan and his negative forces to creep in, we are slated to remain in the dark.

Asking the angels, saints, and those that I love to pray for me, I will strive to continue to live as though each day were my last. Surrounded by that much love, how can I go wrong?

Oh, and something else the devil doesn't like?

Paying it forward.

Pay it forward – spread a smile!

Image courtesy of Google Images.
(Posted today at: A Dose of Positivity)

Say whaaat??!!??

Okay, immediately after I posted that last piece, I realized I was possibly pitching the right article to the wrong demographic. I am slowly growing to understand that I have different audiences in different places. Generally, most of my writing online has been rock and roll oriented, but I realize that the world is larger than that. So, let me tell you a little bit about another topic I enjoy thinking about: My lazy man's quest to become a "Spiritual Leader" - I'm not driven or ambitious enough to try and get rich doing it, but it does service my ego fairly well.

I have a creative process as a writer that is neither particularly unusual nor original. A lot of my work comes out as "automatic" or "stream of consciousness" writing - which is not to say that there is no intellectual process involved, simply that any intellectual or analytic component comes later on in the editing phase, when I realize (hopefully) what the heck I was talking about.

On some rare and very special occasions, I am visited by words the source of which I cannot trace. They quite literally come from a location within myself that is unmapped. The poem I wrote to read at my wedding falls under this category (which, if enough people express interest in reading it, I may post here as well). Yeats, among many others, claimed to have accessed some other intelligence or state of being in some of his writing. I do not purport to take a stand for or against the verity of such claims. All I know is that occasionally I have the experience of writing something, then looking at it and going "Where the heck did THAT come from?"

At this point I would like to "out" myself and confess that I am the author of this blog [link] which has heretofore been anonymous. I invite you to partake of this exercise in mostly or somewhat automatic writing as you have leisure to do so. Here is a small excerpt of that writing, to give you a taste of the sort of subject matter it deals with.

Thursday, January 08, 2009

to be loved

possibly every fear, every worry, every sorrow can be traced back to the desire to be loved, or perhaps more succinctly, the desire to feel as if we are loved. feelings are only a partial source of information, and using feelings to map reality is like trying to sew a wedding dress with one's teeth.

love is not a feeling, but an action - this is a cliche that you may already have heard many times. we do not truly understand the implications of what being truly loved is - if we did, not only would we lose completely and permanently all illusion that it is possible to not be loved, we would be consumed by the fire of love that is more ubiquitous than air.

the desire to be loved causes sorrow. it is an unquenchable desire.

the only liberation from that pain is to realize that it arises from an illusion - that we are not loved. still, it's easy enough to talk about abandoning illusion, but every human being who has ever lived has struggled a mighty struggle against their own illusion, as a hunter with a broken spear might struggle hand-t0-tusk with a wild beast.

the only proven way to liberate oneself from the illusory, addictive desire to fee loved is to love completely and totally without seeking to be loved in return.

some confuse not seeking to be loved, with rejecting love. but the rejection of love is also an illusion, like a fish rejecting water. does the fish welcome water? the fish does no such thing. the fish abides in the water. so do we abide in love, whether we see it or not. to love selflessly opens the heart to receive love more completely than any other pursuit.

to fully see reality as it is, may possibly be a great burden. but those who dare great things may dare to see beyond their fears to an underlying reality.

the reality is not simply that we are loved, although we are. the reality is not simply that to love the other is the only way to open the heart to receive love, although that also is true. the reality is not simply that we are surrounded by love everywhere and in everything, although that also is true.

the reality that holds all of these things is that everything is love, and that there is nothing that is not love. the only reality is love. everything else is illusion.