Love does not mean what is ordinarily understood by it. The ordinary love is just a masquerade; something else is hiding behind it.
The real love is a totally different phenomenon. The ordinary love is a demand. The real love is a sharing. It knows nothing of demand; it knows the joy of giving.
The ordinary love pretends too much. The real love is non-pretentious; it simply ‘IS’.
The ordinary love becomes almost sickening, syrupy, drippy, what you call “lovey-dovey.” It is sickening, it is nauseating. The real love is a nourishment. It strengthens your soul. The ordinary love only feeds your ego — not the real you but the unreal you. The unreal always feeds the unreal, remember; and the real feeds the real.
Become a servant of real love, and that means becoming a servant of God.
God is love in its ultimate purity.
Give, share whatsoever you have, share and enjoy sharing. Don’t do it as if it is a duty — then the whole joy is gone. And don’t feel that you are obliging the other, never, not even for a single moment.
Love never obliges. In fact, on the contrary, when somebody receives your love, you feel obliged.
Love is thankful that it has been received. Love never waits to be rewarded, even to be thanked.
If the thankfulness comes from the other side, love is always surprised — it is a pleasant surprise — because there was no expectation.
You cannot frustrate real love because there is no expectation in the first place. And you cannot fulfill unreal love because it is so rooted in expectation that whatsoever is done always falls short of it. Its expectation is too much: nobody can fulfill it.
So the unreal love always brings frustration, and the real love always brings fulfillment.
And when I say, “Become a servant of love,” I am not saying to become a servant of somebody whom you love — no, not at all. I am not saying to become a servant of a lover. I am saying become a servant of love.
The pure idea of love should be worshipped.
Your lover is only one of the forms of that pure idea, and the whole existence contains nothing but millions of forms of that pure idea. The flower is one idea, one form, the moon another, your lover still another… your child, your mother, your father, they are all forms, all waves in the ocean of love.
But never become a servant of a lover.