The experience of loving is only yours, and no one else’s

Learning to still be in-love,,
Without any concrete person to be in love with,
May seem impossible,
And in truth it is not so easy,
Because the mind goes, wanders, remembering those times,
In which love flowed easily between the two,
Or so you thought, at least you imagined.

In these moments of remembrance, of melancholy,
Seems as if you lack the air,
As if you could not breathe, you drown,
You lack the person who ignited your love,
But then, with an effort of will,
You give the attention to the sensation of loving itself,
Not to the external object that provoked it, but to your own experience of loving,
You remember that feeling, and you revive it, at will,
Without thinking, without judging, only living the wonderful feeling of loving,
With full consciousness.

You realize then that the experience of loving was yours,
Which is still yours, which has always been yours,
You believed that it had been taken away, denied, that you no longer had it,
But it was only a belief,
For now you see that you can still evoke it, experience it, live it, it is in you,
Then you feel as if you are back in the air, you breathe again.

And so, day by day, being very attentive, very mindfulness,
Capturing the moment when the mind wanders,
Capturing the moment when the sadness returns,
Realizing that that love is still in you, that you have love within,
That you thought you needed someone to live it,
And it was just a belief in your mind,
Which needs to be convinced otherwise,
Showing him, patiently, the truth,
Then you learn to be permanently in love,
To stay there, in your love,
In what you are in the background, what you have always been, without knowing it,
And that no one can ever deny you, ever again.

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Love story

A short tale about the realization of inner love, the source of true love.

At first, she treated me with great affection.
So my affection for her grew, and grew.
Even when I tried to stop it, I was unable.
Because I noticed that my attempt made her suffer.
When I tried to be distant, I saw her with her head down, and I could not bear it.

Eventually my affection for her overwhelmed me.
Occupying my mind, my thoughts, my being.
I used to imagine sharing with her every moment, every experience. I’m in love with her, clearly.
So I could not hide my great affection anymore.

But it happened that she had already changed her mind.
She had already decided to restrain her affection for me, because it was not convenient for her.
What I had not been able to do, was no problem for her.
So she rejected me, without any care.
And his dealings with me became formal, polite, correct … cold. No more affection from her.
We distance ourselves. We did not see each other anymore.

However, I wrote to her from time to time.
I wrote it with tenderness, with affection, opening my soul, as always.
But she always responded intellectually, analytically, with distance.

One night, after reading his cold reply, I realized that I was happy.
How was it possible?
She no longer offered me any affection, but even so, the mere mental contact, through e-mails, from a long distance, made me happy.
Then I realized that the happiness I felt was not produced by her.
It were impossible, because she was closed to me, she was not giving anything, anymore, to me.

Where did that happiness come from?
Focusing my attention carefully on the sensation, I saw it flowing from me. From within,
There was no reason for such happiness, even so there it was, subtle, but real, as if there was still mutual affection.

I realized then that I could live, feel, that state, a state of love-happiness, independently, by myself. She was not producing it, no longer, no more, never more.
She had only opened a door to my inner source of love; and I could keep the door open, even though she no longer loved me.

Thus, currently I remain in love, happy. But not in love for her, I’m in love. Within love.
And I stopped writing her. I no longer need her. I do not bother her anymore.

The inner reality of love can be recognized only by love. Hans Urs von Balthasar