I have thought for a long time that the word love is overused, and has way too many meanings. After all, is it the same thing to love my beloved, mom, dog, dancing and ice cream? It’s not a well thought out perspective, and I find myself using the word anyway. I guess I love the word Love.
It just occurred to me though that maybe the word love just means that which breaks down my shell of separateness. I’m immersed within a universe, yet conceive of my self as somehow apart from that universe, as though I am experiencing the universe as something “out there” – something that can “happen to me”. Maybe the things I love are simply the things that I want to connect with and feel a part of; whether that is making love with my beloved, or “merging” with a bowl of ice cream? Could it be that I love the things that make me feel interconnected with this great mystery of life, whether they are sublime or mundane? I love thinking about these things . . .