Tuesday, 2 May 2017


Chapter 5 of my upcoming book chronicles why and how love never thrives, or never sees the first birthday. It looks at how most of us have been blinded in the “shades” that love is about what we look like on the outside, and not what we are in the inside. A snippet:  “Rather than what people offer on the outside, real love is in the heart, the heart always wants what it wants. There is no love in a place where the heart wants a drop-dead gorgeous brown lady but a man is married to a black skinned fairly looking woman—love has no chances here—but just gets starved. Love needs to grow, where there is no continual gardening of the love garden, be sure to find the uprooting of it: the bad juju will keep popping up”

This is a continuation of what cited out in the lens of love: “We are indefatigable love-seekers all. Why, then, are we often defeated finding durable love more difficult to win than almost any other ambition? To be in Love of course is to take on the penthouse of living, that top most toppling tower, perpetually lit by the privileged radiance which sets one apart from nether world. Love should be an act of will, of passionate patience—flexible, cunning, constant; proof against roasting and freezing, drought and flood, and the shifting climates of mood and age. Most of all it must be built on truth, not dream, the knowledge of what we are, rather than what we think it is fashion to be. The sum of love is that it should be a meeting place, an interlocking of nerves and senses, a series of constant surprises and renewals of each other’s moods—best of all, a steady building, from the inside-out, to extend its regions where children and live and breathe”

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