How many words have we used to illuminate this indefinable idea, the desire we never exhaust, the experience we can never say enough about, the word beneath all other words, as if it refused to be another item on our wish list, but was the paper our lists are written on? It lies at the root of all our motivations, carries our longings, sustains us in absence or abundance, meets us in any circumstance, uplifting or depressing.
Our expectations are unreasonable for this small, soft syllable, and yet it holds up well. However incomplete the language, I want to understand the many words for love.
Appreciation, seeing the qualities in another I most want to see in myself.
Forbearance, holding my tongue when words would cut, even when I have the right.
Yearning, the slow, aching wish that orbits but cannot land.
Care, sensing needs before they are spoken.
Enchantment, seeing the color in gray clouds.
Forgiveness, the gift I’m afraid to ask for, the salve I withhold until I’m ready for repair.
Bearing pain, my carrying capacity for burdens.
Exuberance, the shameless joy that overspills, laughing and giddy.
Sacrifice, giving away what is most precious.
Discipline, the patience to wait and trust that seeds can bloom.
Grief, the water seeping under the door I had shut to hold it out.
Darkness, the cold unending absence I endure.
Despair, the proof that I still care.
Self-regard, choosing to believe the voice that treasures me, not the voice that disparages me.
Protest, refusal to accept the things that drag us backwards.
Presence, lavishing attention with such outrageous availability that we are mirrored in each other.
Smile, the small gesture that opens doors.
Touch, pure connection, wordless and warm.
If these words are scattered bits of color turning in the cosmic kaleidoscope, what is the light they are aimed toward? I think it must be some form of this: I hold the interests of another equal to my own; I recognize that the exchange between us, the giving and receiving of love, is the fundamental purpose of being human. The crowd of words continues, vanishing in the distance, but none of them can escape the gravity of that first word. No healing comes outside of its embrace.
Photo by Felicia Montenegro on Unsplash
How many words? All of them.
This essay reminds me that every word I speak can be a word of love.
It’s a decision I make every day.
“Every word I speak can be a word of love.” That is a beautiful thought, thanks for commenting.
Attention. Giving my attention to what someone might need. And listening. This essay reminds me to do more listening.
I have the same thought. Listening may be the most loving thing we can do in any conversation, it gives the other space to order their thoughts and express themselves.
Maternal/paternal, the love of a parent for a child.
What a wonderful comment. Parental love may be the strongest, culturally, socially, and maybe genetically.
Showing up. Trust that we each come from a place of good intentions.
Jody, thanks for the reminder that everyone has reasons for how they act and what they believe; the vast majority of people want a better world,