Being human is not easy. The challenge is not to become overly invested in any one particular storyline or narrative the mind conjures. And yet, by far the hardest passage one can move through here is the loss of a loved one—whether a parent, a partner, or a child.
Grief lingers until the rawness of a wounded heart born of physical absence is slowly replaced by the memory of love being enough. While the soul may know the departed is still present, the heart feels the hollow space where physical closeness once lived.
What is gently encouraged is the continuation of relationship rather than its termination—a quiet, ongoing dialogue with the one who has transitioned. Not as denial, but as devotion. In this way, the living heart remains open, and love is allowed to change form without disappearing.
In time, the wounded heart does not close—it widens. What once felt like unbearable absence becomes a different kind of intimacy, one no longer dependent on form or proximity. Loss does not end love; it reveals its depth. And in that revelation, the heart learns how to carry both sorrow and devotion without needing to resolve either.
Being human means loving in ways that leave marks. Grief is not a sign of failure or attachment gone wrong—it is the imprint of connection having been real. Over time, the sharpness softens, not because love fades, but because it learns how to live without form. What remains is not absence, but a quieter presence—one that asks nothing, explains nothing, and continues to love from wherever it now resides. And so it is in love and light of the aligned mind.
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