love: not private at all.

Digesting our past shouldn’t mean ending up alone.
Love should get us through this.

I don’t cry for anything that happens now.
Nobody gets close.
I just cried for this, again, last night.
I. Loved. You.

Old loves, hang on to them.
Love and loss.
This love is very different.
I loved. You.

I wish we could have celebrated
How far we’ve come
Instead of falling at the last hurdle.
I loved you.

I wish I was wiser – but then
I would have left you, and it,
A long time before I did.
I didn’t.
Because I loved you.

I wish I had been loving
And kind and understanding
But I wasn’t. I was angry. I felt used and discarded.
Because I loved you.

I wish it was easy to turn one love
Into another. A childish adoration, eternal perfection
into mutual respect and tolerance and closeness.
To want this and admit to wanting this is hard. I wanted this.
I loved you.

You might think you can change.
But it takes two
people to grow and build a relationship.
But then – I loved you.

What about the environment that made us into
person-less sycophant? Who is responsible for that?
I was told I should love that person.
I loved you.

The love I’ve lost has grown from the most immature,
fawning idolisation.
What it had grown into, by the time I lost it, I don’t know.
I just loved you.

I know it meant something. Because the person I loved
made the decision to stop having that connection,
stop caring about the causes I had shown them, because of something I said.
While I loved you.

The person I loved, after turning away from me,
turned towards their (long dead) guru – who they love –
and decided to climb the final rung in the ISKCON power structure.
Well – I loved you.

I had some idea that I was sticking around
for you to talk to.
But when we did try to talk
it was awkward.
Because I loved you.

It was you my entire spiritual life centered on, a few years earlier.
Who I served. With all my being. Who I pleased.
Who needed to be pleased if I wanted to make any advancement.
Back then, I loved you.

In hindsight,
you were trying to figure things out even then,
just like the rest of us.
And I just loved you.

I had freed myself from the restrictions of a nun’s life years before
the final breakdown of our relationship. I started living life, making all the mistakes a person makes, growing back into my individuality.
While still loving you.

That’s a process I’d rather not talk about.
It is upsetting and embarrassing, looking back at bad decisions and their consequences.
It is also necessary and it means all the difference between hiding behind a cloak of spirituality and living life.
And I still loved you.

If I had the choice, would I have given up,
returned to the convenient and familiar, always available bosom of religion?
You bet I would.
And wouldn’t it have meant to love you more?
There is no love in that place.
There is pretence of love, a show.
The more I get it out of my system, the more I can love.

And it’s not like I didn’t try to go back.
It’s just different when you’re a female on the bottom of the food chain – it is very familiar and utterly horrible.
Not like when one is male and has servants.
I still loved you.

Because I went through this, I am not just equal, I am better.
Nothing important, just life.
My formative years spent never doubting the guru, this is confusing.
Still. I loved you.

While moving on from harmful practices – for others and for us –
do we have to break relationships? It seems inevitable.
And it is very sad.
Because I loved you.

This relationship was based on love from my side and
mostly still service from yours. We only ever talked about what I could do
for you. And then you didn’t even take my advice. I tried.
Because I loved you.

A guru doesn’t know how to have relations based on other things.
What things are ok for a guru guy to base a relationship on
when they are also a monk?
I loved you.

Was I rash sometimes? Without a doubt.
Suddenly seeing a causative connection between the religious environment, consciously created by your guru,
and many of the things that went wrong in my life.
That I had to spend years to recover from. And still haven’t.
Yet – you, I loved.

I wasn’t consciously trying to be a help to you in your own recovery.
How could I, I used to be your humble servant, believing you
were eternal and super powered. And I was a useless nothing, didn’t matter.
And still now somewhat treated like that. Never would you contact me first.
Still, I loved you.

I think I was helping, looking back.
Would I have acted differently, had I been aware of that?
Maybe, and maybe not in a good way.
I just loved you.

As it was, I just did what came naturally,
which for a while, was a natural progression.
Awkward but nice. A very gradual change.
I loved you.

It all stopped when I let my anger out in writing one day
you snapped, broke up with me and stopped caring for
‘my causes’ (dirty mining practices by ‘devotee’ industrialists in India).
I had loved you.

What made our connection so powerful
that it was either me or the love you felt for your long dead guru?
What made you choose to enter the monastery when breaking up with me?

What emotional turmoil must you have been in for one post to have that effect?
I have been in situations where one conversation with one person
made me snap and make a decision affecting my entire life.
I have felt lost and confused.
Was that how you felt?
I loved you. You knew.

If I had been aware of the power of my love, would I have been more careful
or more manipulative? Would I have been drunk on the possibility
to have any influence over a person I used throw myself at the feet of? Probably.
As it was, I just loved you.

There definitely would have been changes.
I don’t know if I was ready for any of that. But are we ever?
At least I wasn’t scared of them. I’m not scared.
I loved you.

What happened instead is that you made the decision to stop.
I was there for you
and said as much in my last message.
I loved you.

It all is for the best. Nothing in life ever stops.
Your decision was made publicly, in a much bigger context,
with lots of people involved. I am happy to be invisible,
not concerned with how my decisions affect thousands of people,
getting on with life.
I love.

I don’t regret either the love that made me try to keep this relationship
or making my negative feelings about what it had grown from
very, painfully clear.
I loved.

I love. In my life, that is what I want.
And this story, if nothing else, it showed me:
love is powerful.

That is all.
I love.


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