“What’s the argument for loving this world and the people in it? Certainly, the evidence does not point us in that direction. It’s trivially easy to tick off everything that’s wrong with us: viruses, for one. And to say that gnosis is a move away from love is not to argue against it, merely to point out a consequence. Isn’t love sort of an embarrassing word, anyway? What would it mean, anyway, loving the world?
Fragility is not a condition to which most of us aspire. It’s pleasant to help, or it can be; unpleasant, extremely, to need help. Declaring the world a mistake expresses a tragic aspect of reality, grasping for control an attempt at escape. But in abundance and devastation, what remains is our dependence on each other. So it is impossible for me not to think that our weakness isn’t, in the end, the best part of us: our capacity for desire, our ability to give and receive love, to heal and to harm. We can be afraid of each other or we can love each other. These are, in the end, our choices.
Dreams may not mean anything. But if my dream about the rediscovered gift does, maybe all it means is that the things you need you will be given many times. Indeed, you’ll never reach the point where you don’t need to be given them. You will never stop being weak or a creature of desire or demanding care and love. You will ask and ask and ask.
Yet instead of wearing out, giving less and less every time, these gifts will be enriched, made more beautiful, every time you receive them, in forms more beautiful than you can imagine. Because love is meant to be given, and in the giving, deepens and replenishes itself. And whatever else might be true about this world, it is built, from its foundations on up, out of love, which desires even as it fulfills, which yearns and which comforts, and in which all things meet, are remembered, and are reconciled; and are eventually, eternally, assuredly redeemed.”
— B.D. McClay (via)