Morning Muse 24: What Is Love? The Emotion Behind Every Emotion
Love cannot be confined to a definition — it is the essence of all existence. This thought-provoking reflection reveals how even anger, jealousy, and greed are merely distorted forms of love. Blending ancient wisdom, poetic insight, and a master’s lesson with a rose, it explores how true love emerges only when awareness and wisdom unite with the heart
7/26/20252 min read
Love is perhaps the only thing in the universe that defies definition, because it is the very fabric of existence. You cannot explain it; you can only experience it. And unless you’ve truly experienced it, even the finest words will fall short.
We are all made of love. The universe itself breathes in the rhythm of love — silent, subtle, yet all-pervading. Everything else we feel is either love in its purest form or a distorted reflection of it.
Anger, for instance, is not the opposite of love — it is love, twisted. When you love perfection too much, you become angry at imperfection. That’s not hatred; it’s misplaced love.
Greed is love for objects.
Jealousy is love without trust.
Possessiveness is love without freedom.
Every so-called negative emotion is a child of love, lost in the absence of understanding.
When love lacks awareness, it becomes suffering.
But when love is united with wisdom, it transforms into bliss.
And of all the attempts to define love, perhaps the most enduring comes from a sacred scripture that has touched hearts for centuries:
“Love is patient, love is kind.
It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud.
It does not dishonour others, it is not self-seeking,
it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs.
Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth.
It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.”
— Corinthians 13:4–7
Let me tell you a story.
A young monk once asked his master, “What is love?”.The master smiled, led him to a rose bush, plucked a blooming flower, and handed it to the boy.
“Smell it,” he said. The monk inhaled its fragrance. “It’s beautiful,” he whispered. The master nodded.“That is love — when it is fresh.”Then the boy’s finger was pricked by a thorn. The master pointed to it and said, “That pain? That too is love — when you hold too tight or try to own the flower forever.”The monk looked puzzled. The master gently whispered:
“Love is not to be held.
It is to be felt,
to be shared,
to be let go —
and above all,
to be understood.”