Love is the vital essence that pervades and permeates, from the center to the circumference, the graduating circles of all thought and action. Love is the talisman of human weal and woe--the open sesame to every soul.
Love never dies a natural death. It dies because we don't know how to replenish it's source. It dies of blindness and errors and betrayals. It dies of illness and wounds it dies of weariness, of witherings, of tarnishings.
Men decide far more problems by hate, love, lust, rage, sorrow, joy, hope, fear, illusion, or some other inward emotion, than by reality, authority, any legal standard, judicial precedent, or statute.
Most of you have been where I am tonight. The crash site of unrequited love. You ask yourself, How did I get here What was it about Was it her smile Was it the way she crossed her legs, the turn of her ankle, the poignant vulnerability of her slender wrists What are these elusive and ephemeral things that ignite passion in the human heart That's an age-old question. It's perfect food for thought on a bright midsummer's night.
Never surrender your hopes and dreams to the fateful limitations others have placed on their own lives. The vision of your true destiny does not reside within the blinkered outlook of the naysayers and the doom prophets. Judge not by their words, but accept advice based on the evidence of actual results. Do not be surprised should you find a complete absence of anything mystical or miraculous in the manifested reality of those who are so eager to advise you. Friends and family who suffer the lack of abundance, joy, love, fulfillment and prosperity in their own lives really have no business imposing their self-limiting beliefs on your reality experience.
Oh how smoothly, how swiftly and horribly, how cruelly and thoroughly, one discovers the powers and prowess of Maya, the Supreme power of Illusions! With a simple sleight of her hand, léger de main, everything changes in a moment; electrically charged, awesome and exciting years of life shrink to moments - just to realize that all that fascinating reality had been a dream. Perhaps all that had happened previously had been a continuous sequence of beautiful images that one would admire and fall in love with, and to realize that it’s all the game of dreams, illusions and Maya. The reality also strikes, at the same moment, that everything one would still experience in the future, would see with one’s eyes and feel with one’s hands, up to the moment of one’s death — that everything is not going to be any different in substance, or any different in kind. Why would it be? It’s always all a game, all foam and all dreams. It’s Maya, the whole lovely and frightful, delicious and desperate kaleidoscope of life with its searing delights, intertwined with its searing sorrows, the amazing show that has been ongoing since the dawn of Universe.