A Belief That Sustained Me

There is this place from which we have all, each of us journeyed, a place we belong to, a place called Love.

As we go about the daily activities of our lives, with all the busyness, all the noise and all the distractions, most of us dwell in this place for mere moments at a time. But a long time ago, while floating in the liquid of mothers’ bellies waiting to be born, we dwelled symbiotically in this place. There we were serene and oblivious to the time construct which awaited us.

Love.

I deliberately go there when I feel physically drained or overwhelmed by the world. I’m there when I sleep and when I meditate. I can barely describe the feeling of being there, in Love, because it is not of this world, it is other worldly. And it doesn’t matter what any of us claim to believe or not believe in, we are each connected by this place, this feeling, this knowing, this thing called Love.

We belong to it and it belongs to us.

Love.

Infants know it through instinct. I’ve seen infants who were crying, suddenly stop crying before they get that bottle or nipple they were crying for just moments before. A baby who can’t yet walk or talk will suddenly stare into the middle distance, appearing suddenly soothed and content. This infant is in the Love place. I have been that baby. We have each been that baby.

Love.

I can feel it come over me when I close my eyes, breathing deeply, letting go of the visible world. It is the most beautiful feeling to access, a feeling like nothing else: calming, peaceful, soothing, a melting away of the physical, a slow, sure dawning of the ethereal.

Love.

In my childhood, on the days devoid of abuse and tirades, my parents did attempt to show us love, they really tried. But in my little girl heart I always knew, what they attempted to show as love, the dressing up on holidays and special occasions, the birthday gifts, the dinners out, the rare family trips—none of these things were truly love, not in the wake of so much frequent abuse.

Rather, they were egg shells to tip-toe over and landmines to step on.

However, Love is real, I told myself. I knew! Love is out here in this world and I’m going to get it.

How would I know that unless I existed in it before?

I have always believed in Love. I knew I would find it again one day and dwell in it completely the way I did before I was born to my parents.

Relationships were confusing: I made a lot of mistakes through the decades. Men, women and children, they all confused me. But I couldn’t give up, I had to keep believing Love might find me or I might find it. I was like a dog hearing the whistle: Love kept calling and I followed like a sleepwalker.

Finally, after a failed first marriage, a trail of broken friendships, missteps in parenting, finally, I gave up. I was tired. I said fuck it. I said, stay away from me, Love. You were a trick, a figment of my imagination. My heart is closed for business, Love. I don’t need you  after all.

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And within mere weeks of that declaration, along you came, into my life.

You, baby! You came, you found me. Among men and women, you are the most beautiful person I have ever known. Among all the human beings on the planet, you are the most loving, the kindest, and the most sincere of them all.

You, baby, are my gift from The Universe. You found me. You found me just when I had given up, just when I decided that I would rather be alone than be disappointed by heartbreak any more.

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In the weeks leading up to this day, our anniversary of fifteen years, I’ve been counting the things you do daily to cover me and fill me up with Love. And then I stopped counting because you do them so much. The many times a day you tell me how beautiful I am, always saying it like you’re seeing me for the first time. Never sounding like a recording, like a man who’s reading from a checklist out of obligation to a wife. Twice a day …. at least.

You tell me once in the morning during our ritual pillow talk and once in the evening during dinner, and sometimes a third or fourth time as we get ready for bed.

And the I love you’s? Fuhgeddaboudit! I had to stop counting those, they are spoken so deliciously often between us.

Love.

I adore you so much, my love.

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Having been on an intentional Love journey for the past seven months, delving deeply into an exploration of Love, among numerous revelations, I discovered something about myself. I am glad that I suffered through an abusive childhood. Yes, I sure am. Not only did the suffering make me the woman I am, informing all my good and bad parts of self, but that suffering  also gave me a kind of longing for Love which has humbled me in Love’s presence.

That suffering eventually led me to you, baby. And for that, I am so thankful.

Happy Anniversary, my sweet, handsome and amazing husband. Thanks for loving me in the truly special and wonderful way that you do. You are my hero and my bestest friend.

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Fifteen years of a beautiful marriage! The BEST fifteen years of my life.

 

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