There is No “Right Time” to Love

There is no “right time” to love: you either do, or you don’t.
~Mikavelli~

Recent observations and conversations with an array of people have lead me to discover how afraid our generation has become, especially when it comes to the people around us. We are so guarded against each other, so apprehensive of each others’ opinions and standpoints, so fearful of us turning against each other at the snap of a finger. But is this really the case?

We often feel like we’re the only ones with the thoughts we have, the only ones with the experiences we have, the only ones with the emotions we share and the demons we fight. What if I told you that all of us, at our own times in our own lives, have similar emotions, demons, thoughts, perceptions, but that we have learned to project them onto different principles? We are all fearful: some of us fear political instability, some of us fear war, some of us fear love, some of us fear being alone. We are all conflicted: what is right, what is wrong, should I stay , should I go?

Scared of falling? Spread your wings. Scared of being alone? Call your friends. Scared of your thoughts? Express them. Scared of rejection? Become irresistible. Scared of success? Slow down. Scared of failingRedefine your standards. Scared of happiness? Embrace it. Scared of pain? Do something with it.

Being fearless is a choice, and for most of us, seeing is believing. Well why not see how fearless you can be? I dare you.

We are all in this together. We are united. In our fears, in our conflicts, we rise. And with that unity and consent, ultimately, there is love.

We tend to be with (or surround ourselves with) those we aspire to be, but our generation is so fixated on “being ourselves” that we end up being with ourselves, feeling alone, feeling as if there is no one to fight with us. Not for us, not against us, but with us. We have become so fearful, so driven with insecurity and the self-perpetuated view of failure that we don’t even know success when it’s staring us in the faces. We are so clouded by our inner conflicts that we do not see the victory that is already before us: love conquers fear. To love is to overcome our insecurities. To love is to overcome our limitations. To love is to overcome our boundaries.

There is no “right time” to love: you either do, or you don’t.

Peace,
Mikavelli

(Personal story: On how love conquered fear for me)

My Story: On Love and Fear

Only LOVE can overcome FEAR.
~Mikavelli~

Personal story:

As a child, I saw how fearful my peers were of studying; they preferred electronics and video games. I didn’t. I was drawn to the smell of fresh books and the unmarked innocence of new notepads. I fell in love with reading and writing, two parts of me that incidentally not many around me appreciated, nor had the patience to enjoy.

But I fell in love nonetheless, with characters, with planets, with words, with knowledge…I fell in love with the unencumbered infinity of time, space, experience. A place where there were no boundaries…

Life progressed, and innocence became a thing of the past as I slowly learned of the atrocities of which humans were capable; humans, this species I was indoctrinated to treat with respect. It was a respect I’d felt “they” hadn’t earned. Humans, the self-destructive, entitled, greedy evils destroying what was once beautiful: the planet, the lands, the seas, the people of the world…

Love had been overridden by competition, by aggression, by the anarchy that losing one’s innocence had allowed.

I learned, instead, to fight: to fight for what is right, what is true. To fight for justice. I fought for those who fought for me, and against those who detested me. I fought, until I realized that I had become exactly what I had been fighting against: FEAR. I had become… fear.

In fighting the fear, I realized that I was only fighting myself. And that the only victory was LOVE. I had to love myself. I had to overcome fear with so much love that I feared how much I could love — myself as well as others. I surrendered to my “self”, to the love that overcame fear.

The love of “self” does not mean to be in love with yourself.
It is in the wording: the love…of self…
self’s love, not self love.

So what if…just what if…we allowed someone to love us that exact same way…?

Love yourself, but let yourself be loved too.

Peace,

Mik

Gush of Nostalgia

I know there’s trees
I know there’s sand
I know there’s grass
Is it somewhere in the past?
~MGMT~

Consumed by a sudden gush of nostalgia as the prospect of a future is threatened by an irrevocable past. The present being history in the making, and history being the potter of a defining future.

In running from the realities of what has already happened, the future becomes nothing more than a fanciful skin covering the skeleton of a past already lived. Life being no more than history redefining itself, elucidating every rationalization of infinite possibilities.

Possibilities. Dreams. Future. Ideals. Goals. All but whimsical words invented by oneself to assemble and collocate the mistakes of the past, and relive them in a different image, different light, different setting. There is nothing more than what already is – everything in between being the simplicity of understanding and perception of an innovative conception.

Love. Hope. Happiness. Security. Stability. The beauty in a mundane commonplace which most define as “life.” Beauty lies in the ability to acknowledge and appreciate the presence of such luxuries. The luxury of waking up in the morning, knowing that no man is an island. The luxury of having a reason to wake up. The luxury of anticipating the comeliness of what each new day brings.

Nostalgia. Contemplation. Truth. Fear. Avoidance. Words designed to interpret the inexplicable, the twilight zone in which we subconsciously access the sublunary elements in life. The abstractions of an extraordinary phenomena in which science meets the metaphysical. Where knowledge and wisdom compromise. Where the conscious meets the subconscious. Where the circular motion in which we run ceases. The place in-between, where all the answers can be found, but none of the right questions are ever asked.

Primal. Past. Present. Future. Infinity. The endlessness of time, stretching both ways. For if time never ceases to exist, thus there was no beginning. For if there were a beginning, there would inevitably be an end. The enigmas of the universe, stretching far beyond time, leaving the concept of time a triviality contrasted with the vastness of infinity. Everything around being the “bigger picture,” the real issue. Life in itself is meaningless without rational explanation – yet rational explanation in itself being the simplification of a seemingly phantasmagorical truth.

Everything that is: every atom, every molecule. Every noun, every fact. Every substantiated realization, every abstract sensation. To stand and revel in the surfaces of life, the momentary pleasures which one mistakes as “truth” and “reality.” To watch our lives from the present, stretching our lifeline (now being the pinnacle, birth being the starting point) into the potentials of an infinite future. Our lives, our minute issues and minuscule moments of happiness, just happens to be, as the infinities of the universe surround us, and pass by (however slowly) in comparison to the pace of everyday life.

Adding a definitive meaning to life is all but undermining the limitlessness of something greater, something unfathomable. Whether the rationalization being religion or science – to add a written account for what was meant to be experienced is denying the fact that there are questions meant to be unanswered.

Everything has an explanation, but not everything has an answer. The only truth in any controversy is that we, as humans, cannot accept the fact that the universe is larger than life. We as humans create religion and science to define what was meant to be lived: to add meaning to what was already meant to be. To add relevance to what is already relevant.

And what is larger than life is not meant to be explained.
It’s meant to be experienced.

When busy streets a mess with people
Would stop to hold their heads heavy?
When pleasure moments hung before the takeover
The sweeping insensitivity of this still life.
~Imogen Heap~