Love is not a transaction.........

The trickiest thing with the word love is in my view that it means

so many different things to so many of us.

I mean, like how many different types of love is there?

For the longest time those in the know used to say that there

are four main kinds: Eros(romantic/passion), Agape(compassionate/

non-romantic), Philia(friendship) and Storage(family/close friends).

(These days some say that there are four more kinds of

interpretations of the word: Pragma, Ludus, Mania, and Philautia.

Let me clarify those terms for you: basically they mean Enduring,

Playful, Obsessive and Self-loving.

I, however, I will contend that those terms can easily be a part

of/belong in any of the Four Loves.)

We may say: I love cookies, ice-cream, pizza, dogs,

cats, rainy days, sunny days, flowers, trees, the ocean,

good food, good company, movies, music, etc. etc. etc.

I could go on ad. infinitum.........

 Personally, it seems to me that we use ''love'' rather

ubiquitously(very often) though I'm sure that ''like'' could

work as just well.

Why has the term love become so ubiquitous?(common)

I mean, the way we may love ''the sound of rolling waves''

is not the same way we love our mother or father.... is it?

The way we love our sports team is not the same as

the way we love our children..... is it?

The way we love a movie star is not the same way

we love our partners..... is it?

If we use the same word for our feelings for a pop-star

that we use for our partner, then how deep is our love?

Five love-emojis......15 love-emoji's?

This makes me ponder

how many times we have used a heart emoji to tell

someone that we care about them instead of words.

Emoji's, though I agree can be both useful and funny,

I none the less fear are making us verbally less

efficient and versatile rather than more proficient.

Not to mention how much easier it is to hide

behind a tiny cartoon-ish image than to actually

use precise words to be rude, sarcastic and downright mean.

Imaginative as we are, maybe one day we can skip

words all together and go back to hieroglyphics....?

It's been said that a ''picture paints a thousand words''

which I often find to be true.

But, I also find that a word can ''paint'' a great

many paintings. For example:

Winter-sun, weathered, panoramic, sparkling, shimmering,

futuristic, wind-blown, lovingly, etc. etc.

Not to mention how wordsmiths like Lao Tzu, 

Wordsworth, Shakespeare and Emilie Dickenson

with a few words could sum up the meaning of life.

Love. Romantic love.

Do you know that some stats say that more than

a hundred million songs have been composed

on the subject.

Well, mostly the romantic kind.

Love found, love lost, love beginning, love

ending, love answered, love un-answered,

love lasting, love never starting, secret love,

hidden love, forbidden love, and so on....

A friend of mine once asked me why I never

seem to write about love.

So I asked him what kind of love he meant.

-I mean love-love, he answered.

-What's love-love? I asked.

-Romantic, passionate love, he retorted.

-In that case, why don't you tell me what 

 you take that to mean, I said.

-I mean someone who knows what you need,

someone who is always there for you,

someone who loves you for who you are,

someone who listens to you and comforts you.

-George, stop. What you are describing to me

is not what I would call love-love or romantic love.

-Of course it is. What do you mean?

-As far as I can understand your definition of what

romantic love is, it seems more like a ''wish list'' of what 

you want from your ''lover'' rather than what

you want to share with someone you love.

For at least five minutes George said nothing.

He just sat there staring into somewhere else.

Finally I decided to say something.

-For me, love can not be bought with bags of money,

 Love is not a transaction nor is it

a service one can procure.

Love is not a mere word, it is acting with patience,

tenderness, commitment, compassion, loyalty

and an acceptance of the other as they are.''

-I see, I really do, George suddenly said and stood up

from the couch.

Slinging his bag of percussion instruments

over his shoulder he opened the front

door and then said: Thanks. I need to go see

my wife now. 

With those words he closed the door behind him

and left me somewhat bewildered, confused and perplexed,

.........staring at nothing.

Personally I do not like the inclusion 

of Pragma, Ludus, Mania, and Philautia

as part of the different kinds of love

us humans experience. 

However, I do hope to one day see the term

''Amor Artis''(Love of art) as a kind of very

succinct form of love that us humans experience.

*

about the images: Large canvas with paper shopping bags

glued on top. Then painted with acrylics.

And this morning edited in Elements.

Small painting of ''Pinocchio'' figures

embracing. Acrylic on canvas.

The moment and the blade of grass

I could feel it. I had no words to verbalize

what I was feeling, but it wasn't good.

The minute the bus stopped I got off and started

to run. 

As I opened the front door an almost tangible

atmosphere of sorrow and grief greeted me.

I knew. I knew on the bus. Running home I knew. 

Before my dad had even uttered a word, I knew.

My brother, my best friend, had died.

Suddenly I felt as if nothing stood still.

Everything was vibrating.

I was vibrating.

My heart was pounding so hard that I 

thought it was going to burst through

my rib cage.

-Go see your mother, my father said to me.

Looking at the stairs leading up to the

bedroom where my mother was, seemed

an impossibility to me.

-Dad, I can't walk. I'm vibrating and everything is

blurry.

-Come on, he said and grabbed my hand.

Your mother needs you.

Somehow we got to the bedroom.

In the darkness I saw my mother laying

in a fetal position on the bed and crying so much

that everything in the room was shaking.

My father pushed me towards my mother

and told me to go comfort her.

How?

It looked to me as if my mother's sorrow

had weaved a cocoon of grief around her through

which I couldn't possibly get through.

Did she know that I was there?

I was still vibrating.

Maybe vibrating, I thought, can make one 

invisible.

If so, maybe she couldn't see me through

her cocoon.

I got the feeling that seeing me was going to 

make her hurt more, make her cry more,

and I didn't want that. 

So I decided then that there are times when

it is better to be invisible.

It took me seven years before I could shed tears for

my brother. 

The years following my brother's death are

quite blurry at this moment, but, I do remember

a specific moment when I realized that it's up to 

me to chose when to be invisible and when not.

*

The Moment

''Winter is finally over and the snow gone.

The sun is warmer and all the leafless trees

are starting to sprout.

The roads are no longer danger zones.

And the black asphalt,

 now free from snow,

twinkle, shimmer and glow.

Standing at the bus stop

mind somewhere else.

Suddenly a sparkle,

a tiny little drop.

Dancing on the tip

on a new born leaf,

how the drop glistened

on the asphalt strip.''

Seeing this blade of grass, this fragile

little green grass somehow managing

to find its way through layers of

asphalt, caught my attention and

revolutionized my thinking.

One tiny seed, no matter how tough

or infertile the ''soil'', will find a way

to fulfill its potential.

Good news: Our mindsets* are not actually 

set in neither asphalt nor cement.

*the way we view and experience the world we live in

"Once your mindset changes, everything on the

outside will change along with it.''

(Steve Maraboli)

Your life is a reflection of your thoughts.

If you change your thinking you change

your life.

(Unknown)

 

about the images:  top Water colour on paper,

some editing in Elements,

Sad Boy, texter on paper