It’s sad to me that we can’t live in a time and space that simply allows us to love. Love for the sake of loving, without fear of judgment or of condemnation. Instead, a large majority of the human race chooses to place people in boxes stamped boldly with labels of “right” or “wrong”, “good” or “bad”. I suppose it’s simply for the sake of attempting to control the behavior of those who cause them to feel uncomfortable. An attempt to stifle those who choose to believe something outside of their own narrow-minded dogma. Judgment provides a feeling of power, helping them to feel steps above those whom they condemn. Maybe they should stop for a moment and take a long, hard look at their own lives before casting the first stone and ask themselves the question “Am I coming from a place of love or of hate?”
What saddens me even more, is the fact that we as individuals allow other people to place us in these boxes in the first place. Out of fear of their opinion, some of us shove our honest feelings and desires into the darkest recesses of our souls, and hide them behind a whitewashed exterior. We become victims yet one more time, giving over our right to feel and to express those feelings, to those who would choose to mold us into clones of themselves, in order to empower their own positions.
If what we feel, comes from a place of love, and does not hold the intention of hurt nor harm, then how can it be “wrong” or “bad”? We are simply hurting ourselves by allowing others to limit our potential for fullness.
Our society has existed a long time with its definition of “normal”. This cotton-candy picture of the white-picket fence, husband and wife and 2.5 children, is presented to us the minute we leave the womb. We are funneled in the direction of this existence by all aspects of our world, “told” that this is simply the way it works. So, we marry, we have children, we co-exist in these “perfect”, “normal” unions, shoving our problems into the closets behind the walls of our two-story stucco homes. We work hard at creating the illusion that all is normal with our happy family, for the sake of avoiding judgment and condemnation. But are we being true to our souls?
In our journey into adulthood, how often were we provided with the opportunity to honor our own feelings, desires and choices? To give our feelings a voice? For most of us, that right was stolen. We were used, we were abused, we were told what to think, what to feel, what to do. Though that voice of the true child inside of us tickled our tummies with butterflies, in an attempt to grab our attention, we ignored her out of fear and the belief that the things she whispered to our hearts were “wrong” or “bad”.
We simply do not love enough in this world in which we exist. We swim daily in this massive sea of needy people and we refuse to recognize each other. Walking stiffly and selectively blinded by fear. We all, as human beings, whether men or women, have an inherent need to be loved, to be touched, to be understood. Without these things, we simply curl up and die. A piece of human skin the size of a quarter contains more than three million cells, fifty nerve endings and three feet of blood vessels. Yet, through the abuses of our world we learn to shut down and numb those incredible senses, afraid to heed the natural physiological need to have them stimulated.
In comparing our culture to others in the world, we fail miserably in our attempt to bridge the gap of the human spirit. One study shows this contrast by the number of touches exchanged by pairs of people sitting in coffee shops around the world. In San Juan Puerto Rico, people touched 180 times an hour; in Paris France, 110 times an hour; in Gainesville Florida, 2 times an hour; in London, England, they never touched.
To me, there is something terribly wrong with a society that appears so neurotic in regards to the much-needed gesture of touching. Yet we fall victim to the mandates of this emotionally crippled dictatorship, handing those who buy into it, the power to choose who we should and should not touch, let alone love.
It saddens my heart that we’ve lived stolen lives. Instead of honoring who we are as unique individuals and experiencing what we feel and desire as our own truth, we instead live someone else’s truth.
If only to love for the sake of loving. To touch when moved to touch, without fear of judgment, honoring the need for expression of soul. If only to live the truth of oneself, empowered, and never again to be funneled away and stripped of our true desires. To be strong enough to claim our lives as we live them, creating our own world, our own existence. Being open to all who surround us, breathing in their lessons, spitting out the parts that we choose not for ourselves. But more than all, being open to love, in any form that it might touch us. Allowing our souls to be embraced by those who would choose to love us, not for who they want us to be, but simply, for whom we are.