This morning, my heart broke open again as another lover said good-bye to me. I sat with my heart for the day. I listened to my breath. I felt defeated by love again and the damage felt irreperable, the proverbial last straw. Not because the love was particularly fierce or long-lasting. But just because I had tried to make a connection and the connection was severed. I had tried, again, to see if love was possible in a particular context. This relentless search is tiring.
But tonight as I listen now to the sound of my dog breathing, asleep beneath the covers at my feet, I see there are no losers in the field of love. Love is neither a game nor a battlefield, though many have tried to say it is so. I came to this realization by way of paradox: I mustered the mental tenacity and resilience I know that I am capable of. And I swore to myself that I will not give up on finding love. And it was practically at that moment, where I swore I would fight until death for love, that I experienced the realization that love is not something to chase or fight for. That human beings are love incarnate. This too, the Buddha taught.
Love is our pleasure, but it is also something like a duty or responsibility.
Is love the only thing that enables us to survive the sufferings of life? Not hope of love, not seeking love, not a promise of love. But a deep awareness of love, as such. Love, period. It has taken a lot of practice to overcome my doubts and regain my confidence in this: having felt or glimpsed love is enough to know that love gives meaning to life. Is it too much to say that love is the thing that gives meaning to life?
This could be the kind of moment that comes rarely in a lifetime. When heartbreak becomes wisdom. And sorrow, gratitude.