Being is love. Nothing is no-love.
Faith is faith in Love. Love is faith in Love.
“A white mountain of snow, which amazes me: here it is my wife”. Roberto Benigni
Do animals have a soul? The carthusian will never forget an old black dog on the beach, contemplating the sea for hours.
And what if men had a soul for the simple fact that they stem from animals?
Do only the lovers under the moon have a soul, and not the moon which animates them?
Isn’t nature love itself? Is my heart attack love? If everything is love, hate is an illusion. If everything is love, violence is only appearance. Illusions and appearances, massive, huge, overwhelming.
There is not only reality, unfortunately.
Will the end of the world be the end of Illusion and Illusions? The total and definitive triumph of what barely shines through the Apparent?
The real teardrops are the eschatological ones, when we will “see” Love in its essence and flesh. And those teardrops will be of love. His and ours.
Blessed are those who cry: Love said.
Blessed are those who suffer because they love. Blessed are those who suffer, loving. Blessed are the Blessed ones, because they suffer form love. Blessed is God.
The real metaphysics means “beyond” selfishness.
Pure love: that is the cancer in every culture and democracy, every church. S. Augustine found his mark.
The Hipponax, doctor of grace and love, was the first to conceive the Trinity as a community of love.
His prophecy was not against Ratzinger and Wojtyla but against their Inspirer. Not against the men (he loved) but against Satan.
This article is available in Italian too