When all that's left is love.

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I read today that it is mostly people with knowledge that are impatient, which begs the question, isn't impatience a perfect excuse to be arrogant? However, the wise Balthasar Gracian goes on to say that it is almost our duty as man to simply make do with the folly of men, for it is inevitable, but also - and this was what intrigued me - he claims that having patience leads to peace, and peace to happiness.

I admire Paul for his claim that he was content no matter the circumstances, whether rich or poor, sick or healthy, understood or misunderstood, loved or hated, known or unknown. His perspective was greater than his eyeview. I wonder if he just never took things personally. Isn't that oftentimes the great issue of man, and hereby I speak of myself, that my ego is injured, and this injury seeps into my heart.

It is bizarre that I have been sad lately. Yes, I have been depressed. God knows it. He knows the thoughts I've been having. And when I have a moment that resembles an outer-body experience, as though I look at my life through someone else's eyes, I become thankful. I realise that the simplicity of my life is exactly how I want it. And I realise that I have changed. A lot. And I realise I have started to take care of myself. And that's ok.

I don't know where or when or why things went wrong, in the sense that my mind was in a rage, and in turmoil, and in tears. All those many years ago, when I was 19. And all the unexpressed emotions led to so many crazy experiences. I can laugh at myself now. And I still rate myself sometimes, in my mind - do you do that too? Where you give yourself a percentage? The strange things we do. But anyway, after an old friend of mine rebuked me the other day at our good mutual friend's wedding, I realised I have more to be thankful for than to be sad about.

It doesn't explain the recent occurrences of hurt and pain that have entered my life. It seems I hold onto spoken words, whether promises, pictures, or criticisms, as though these are the pieces of the puzzle that shape my world. Yet there comes a point when I break through the puzzle, and start again. Start afresh. I keep thinking, That's it! But then it's almost like I can't help myself, and I land up loving again. In small ways. In some ways.

Just the other day I had a thought: What do you do when all that's left is love? It reminded me of Greg's granny, who, after a stroke, was left saying only these words: "I love, I love, I love" - if that is all I ever achieve, I think I'll be happy with that. Happy and at peace. Patience, as they say, is a virtue.

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