Rarely do we have the privilege of witnessing the act of creation in a child who is so dedicated and single-minded. There is a sheer joy and pleasure in the act of painting, the feel of the paints and process of combining colours. Often Aelita will sing or have a running commentary while painting.
“If you love someone, ask them for nothing. Don’t hold them back from their destiny. Don’t keep them from going off in search of their own answers. Don’t ask them for commitment. You will know commitment is real when it is something given willingly, and not as something obligatory. Don’t ask them…
if little by little you stop loving me
I shall stop loving you little by little.
you forget me
do not look for me,
for I shall already have forgotten you.
If you think it long and mad,
the wind of banners
that passes through my life,
and you decide
to leave me at the shore
of the heart where I have roots,
that on that day,
at that hour,
I shall lift my arms
and my roots will set off
to seek another land.
if each day,
you feel that you are destined for me
with implacable sweetness,
if each day a flower
climbs up to your lips to seek me,
ah my love, ah my own,
in me all that fire is repeated,
in me nothing is extinguished or forgotten,
my love feeds on your love, beloved,
and as long as you live it will be in your arms
without leaving mine.
All we know is that growth - the budding, the flowering of love needs
patient waiting. We have to give each other a time to grow. There is
no way we can make someone else truly love us or we them, except
through time. So we give each other that mysterious gift of waiting -
of being present without making demands or asking rewards. There is
nothing harder to do than this. It truly tests the depth and sincerity
of our love. But there is life in the gift we give.
So lovers wait for each other - until they can see things the same way
- or let each other freely see things in quite different ways. There
are times when lovers hurt each other and cannot regain the balance of
intimacy of the way they were. They have to wait - in silence - but
still present to each other - until the pain subsides to an ache and
then only a memory and the threads of the tapestry can be woven
together again in a single love story.
What do we lose when we refuse to wait? When we try to find short cuts
through life? When we try to incubate love and rush blindly and
foolishly into a commitment we are neither mature nor responsible
enough to assume? We lose the hope of truly loving or of being loved.
Think of all the great love stories of history and literature. Isn’t
it of their very essence that they are filled with this strange but
common mystery, that waiting is part of the substance, the basic
fabric against which the story of that true love is written?
How can we ever find either life or true love if we are too impatient
to wait for it?