How to write about Life if it is all I have experienced? Can I really be objective? Can I get away, separate, from my existence for a minute or two and describe what existence is? On the other hand, can I really go on avoiding to attempt to describe Life?

When I listen to exquisite music, when I watch colorful landscapes – or faces, when a sweet voice touches my ears, I wonder. I wonder who the painter is. I wonder who painted the originator of the voice, who painted the colors, the notes of a melody… Who painted me? I believe Life did. Life cannot help it but to express itself. It expresses all the time, nonstop. It expands, it replicates itself. It communicates, radiates, can become intensely joyful or unbearably overwhelming. Does it have a preference? I believe Life does not have a preference other than to be, to exist, to proliferate. It can create or destroy in its impulse. It can look like growing chaos or increasing order.

Is Life personal? Is my life really mine? Can I call my life by my personal name? Who knows… I’ll give it my best shoot: I think Life is not personal. I think it flows through my veins, it makes my heart beat, however, it is not mine nor it is me. It runs in parallel to my individual consciousness, it fuels me to exist but without a preference or an agenda. Wait! Isn’t this description getting close to what many have defined as God? Maybe. For me this is Life and it does not resemble a definition of God. My attempt is not to describe God, or spirituality, or something religious. In observing Life, I see so much more, a miracle and omnipresence far beyond the tiny little human-like personalities we have defined for God. Life is all giving, flowing, unconditional… perhaps it does resemble another word: Love. Can Life be Love and Love be Life? A mother giving birth to a child loves the new life.

Life loves giving Life. Life is Love. Love is Life.