SUPERCALAFRAJILISTICEXPEALIDOCIOUS

Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious: Where is the Love?”

So, there you are. Cockily smiling at this mushy corny sentimental “piece” on “love”, and have decide to read it. Perhaps to fuel your sarcastic ambitions, to use as target practice for your dart championship coming up, or maybe out of genuine curiosity. I love you. You can call it theoretical crap, philosophical mumbo jumbo, or hippie tree-hugging sentiment. Whatever yo9u choose to classify it as, my love remains for you. What does it mean you ask? Would I die for you? Would I bail you out of jail @ 3 AM? Would I shelter, clothe, and feed you even if you watched TV all day and not criticize you? Would I help you grow, help you help yourself? Yes, to all, if you truly need it. But “love” is not going to be summarized in pretty prose for you today. The grounding concept of this love is my belief in you. You. Not your thoughts, your physical appearance, your achievements, your failures, your hopes, your talents, your dreams, your freedom, your reality, your past, your present or your future. I believe in you as energy. An energy without classification, devoid of any stereotype, and without limit. An energy so vast, so imaginative and so powerful it will not be measured. Your eyes read this, but are you really absorbing what I tell you? I love you. You doubt it, snicker at it, and even fear it. Fear its unconditionality, its freedom, and its attachment to the deepest parts of you which you keep hidden. All your dirty little secrets. I love them all. You fear that I am lying, that I am really judging you, that when you walk past me instead of offering you a smile I will glare at you in disgust. I don’t know you, and d I love you. How can I love what I don’t know? Are you alive? Are you breathing? If you answered yes, and even if you are an invisible spirit or ghost, do you know why you’re here? Do you know “the meaning of life”? No. You don’t. But you love it. You may deny it, you may go about your day listening to metal rap and cussing at the fucked up shit you see all around you. But you’re still here. You haven’t killed yourself. And if you’ve tried before, you’re not trying right this instant. So, some part of you is curious. Some part of you wants to live. Some part of you may even feel a purpose, or a reason. This is not what I’m referring to though. I simply point to the obvious that you are A) alive, B) breathing, C)actively reading RIGHT NOW. All these actions o f love. Why would you be alive if you hated life? Surely even in your most severe hate, there is a motivation, even if it is solely to kill everyone else or drown the world in your misery. I love you. I love everything about you, both invisible and visible. I love that you doubt this love. And I love that some part of you accepts it. I am not going to talk about politics, mathematic s, science, religion, music, celebrities, alcohol, gossip, meteorology, philosophy, literature, pornography, or anything else. They are all connected. The one thing I want you to feel is that I love you. I want you to accept it, to want it, to yearn fro it, to bask in its womb of comfort. I want you to feel so free in it that you could shit your biggest turd right in front of me , reveal what you believe to be your most guilty thought, share you most explicit self, cuddle up in you truest fairy tale. I want you to feel free. Because I want to help you smile. I want you to know that whether you “succeed” or “fail”, “try” or “do”, “think” or “act”, “life” or “be true”, I will always love you. And I hope one day you will be able to feel this about someone you perceive as a stranger too. The whole world, yourself, the trees, the whole world, your family, the stars, Britney Spears, Bill Gates, Stephen Wolfram, tarantulas, children, “criminals”, all people, all life , all death, all energy. I love you. And this is one of my fears, my dirty little secrets.