Love is so hard. It is hard to stay soft.
Hate is so easy. It is the easiest thing to close off and shut down.
I have been hateful. It was easy. Fun. Exciting and momentarily satisfying.
Love is hard work. It is dragging a drudge along the bottom of the river
looking to see if what you really want can be brought up through to the surface.
Found again. The precious. From the dark no less. The depths. The unknowns as people fearfully see them. Though they feel as familiar once you are there as I imagine the womb still feels. Or death in a certain aspect. Familiar.
Hate seems like it cuts you free from the pain of relationships in particular. Free from the pain of Love. Hate feels for a while like it sets one to running fast and free and to anywhere or anything. Hate feels like one has been released.
It feels like hate releases you from feeling and caring and other people and your own selves that you would rather ditch. It feels like hate sets you free and running fast.
But hate ultimately conflicts everything worse. Love is complicated but it heals. It fuses and joins.
But choosing love more than hate is no easy matter. Choosing love means what to me?
To me choosing love means accepting how things are and not letting fear make my decisions for me. I don’t want to only see what fear tells me to see. I want to dare loving myself as is good and bad and ugly and beautiful and letting my hearts passion inform me and my instincts and gut inform me the most as well.
Choosing love also means what to me?
Choosing love means trying to harness the energy of compassion in my dealings with myself and others.
Right now for example I could harness the power of compassion for myself by remembering some of the very real things that have hurt me in my life and made me feel set back. I can reflect in how I feel these things have affected my personality and my ability to deal with different life aspects. When I then look at my current life situation I feel more relaxed about where I am. More accepting of where I am and able to see that I, actually doing quite well in many different ways.
It is hard to do that though! It is easier and more fun for me to bitterly reflect on someone else and how they’re assholes and I am right. To stay soft and let in some of the things people have said to me is painful and I wonder if some of them might be true. And then I have to follow the rational to see if it is true and that is hard work and painful too! Love is hard and endless and consistent. Hate is easy and energizing and fun.
Love can lift the house out of the stuck-mud with its consistent intent and its durable sustainability. The mud trying to suck with brute force back down into the immovable. A practice of love as an organized, ever-changing energy could reverse harm.
Love forever soils a life with the experience of the earthly human body and all its horrible pain and rolling pig pleasure.
If I could discipline my own self to have this Love for my own self I would be free and joyous. Happy. If I could find in such a system of love with other people I would be the happiest of all. And I am afraid because I don’t know if I can go for it. I don’t know if I can choose love and choose to be so open hearted and in awe and hurting and wanting and needing and not getting and then getting and not knowing how to handle and being dependent on other humans for my human needs as all each and every human is and always has been and always will be.
I can be able to do it if I am able to cry. As long as I can cry I can love and be loved. If I cant cry…things tend to dry up.
Hate can burn the house to the ground. With hate the flames are a source of pride in being detached. An honor killing of the feelings. Cleansed. Hate is what can’t stand Love with all its messy contradictions.
I can be something of the zealot at times. I can find myself in manias. And that fascism starts ruining my friendships almost immediately.
Love takes fascism and wraps him up in her arms and gets flour all over him and smells like spices and sex and fascism hates love because he loves her so much and there isn’t a thing he can do to stop that human flow of feelings upon which he is merely a bobbing sailboat; needy, dependent and powerless.
And now Love and Fascism are dancing together. Slow dancing. Slow. And fascism is sunk into her.And it feels so good. The lights are a soft golden glow in the background and big green trees whisper in the black shadows surrounding the wooden dance floor. And fascism can never believe he could belong with her. He can’t stand the bigness of his feelings and his feeling ‘not-able’. Fascism then cuts off his feelings. Then we have fascism. And it’s not fun. Fun for fascists is having power over other people. Its sick. Its what our parents had over us. Love and Hate definitely have to do with our parents. And child rearing methods that are child abuse hidden in plain sight.