The samsara of love

I find it one of the most fascinating experiences to watch a person grow up and, with it, to see their ideas, worldview, and life philosophy take shape over time. In their daily unfolding, the change in a person is imperceptible. But the slow daily evolution reveals itself as a distinct change. Perhaps it is this that captivates me most: the quiet assurance that change is always possible, and that self-discovery is not a destination, but a continuous unfolding. This is what I felt when I met up with my friend, Sam, in Prague, on the banks of the Moldau River.

Like the river, our conversation flowed naturally, as if no time had passed between us. And so it had happened for us that our conversation flowed towards romanticism. "Separately from each other, but at the same time, we had both found the courage to stop playing it safe in love. We had stopped playing it cool, but followed the heart and allowed passion its full expression. Simultaneously, yet unaware of each other, we chose complete openness, vulnerability, and honesty in love. What followed for us was a connection felt deeper than before. Leading to an enrichment of the feeling of being alive. A feeling we felt for a different person at the same time.

For me, our conversation that followed was connected to a woman I had recently met, and although I had known her for only a short time, it felt like I already knew enough. I had been blown away by her beauty, certainly, but just as much by the little details that revealed who she was. For me, she embodied perfection. But, paradoxically, it was not this perfection that stuck with me, but the sense that she contained something greater still.

While the sun was setting, marking the start of the golden hour, my friend started to talk: "I used to see my relationship with my ex as something transactional. I thought that's just what relationships were. But I have had some insights since then. I used to play it cool, be laidback, act nonchalant. But now I have started to embrace and express all my feelings to her. I have found that life is too short to play it safe. Why deny yourself the chance to live honestly and feel things fully?" What he said resonated deeply. As for me, the past weeks felt like flying without a safety net. There was a clarity in it, an unshakeable conviction, as if once you chose that path, all options of holding back had been erased. At times, it felt reckless, almost frightening, and yet strangely liberating.

As my friend started talking about his experiences, my thoughts kept drifting to her. I thought about my jealousy of the sunlight that fought its way through the clouds to kiss her face when I met her in the park. Her face glowed with a quiet bliss as the sunlight accentuated her beauty. It was an image that will stay ingrained in my mind. At this moment, I understood why painters can spend a lifetime trying to replicate a moment of beauty in their paintings, like Da Vinci's decade-long struggle to paint the Mona Lisa. I understood their struggle and the agony of not being able to replicate the beauty of such a simple yet profound image.

My friend continued talking about the passionate love he had pursued over the past month that had ended. I felt a mixed sense of pride and empathy for him, as it was clear he had poured every last drop of love into her. I asked him, "How did you find the courage to love fully and wholeheartedly, knowing it might break you?" Although I expected to see pain in his eyes, a little smile formed as he said, "Isn't it our insistence on reciprocity that makes love painful? We measure, we weigh… we wait to be met in equal depth. But what if love was never meant to be a transaction? What if the point of love is to give it altruistically? That is the way to escape the samsara of love." "The samsara of love?" I asked him. "Yes, samsara," he said contemplatively. "That is the circle of birth, experience, death, and rebirth. It is a cycle that is inescapable through the mechanism itself. In love, there is a similar cycle. It consists of wanting, clinging, then fearing and losing. That is why we call it falling in love, because with the clinging comes a fear that we might just be falling towards pain. It is this process of samsara that brings the pain of unreciprocated love." "So, then how do we escape this circle?" I asked. My friend's smile grew: "By learning to love, expecting nothing in return."

When I was with her, this possibility of heartbreak disappeared. I had seen that kind of heartbreak before, when my parents divorced. Their relationship had always looked perfect to me, so when it ended, it came as a shock and left me questioning whether any connection could ever feel truly certain. Yet, as I watched her walk through my house, trying to make sense of who I am by looking at the items I had gathered in my life, a lasting connection no longer felt like an abstract concept. It had become something that could exist in a simple way.

As we continued our walk, the sun started to set, and it felt like a scene from the movie "Before Sunrise." For me, this movie showed so eloquently that love is not about the big gestures; it is about the little things, the interactions, and the dance between two people. Even though the lovers in this story know they will only have one day together, they decide to fully go for it, knowing perfectly well that their next goodbye might be their last goodbye. "They must have understood the samsara of love." I thought to myself.

We stopped for a moment at a small fence and looked over the river as the sun started to set. "So what makes this girl so special?" my friend asked me. I had tried and failed to put this into words before, but in this moment, the definition that I was looking for revealed itself: "She is the embodiment of the feminine. The way she flows through this world, with her wildness and radiant freedom, makes me want to be the riverbed on which she can flow. Free like a river, but supported and guided if needed. I wanted to provide her with the rhythm that could carry her melody into the world. I felt a deep desire to get to know her — everything. The worries she had, the books that had formed her, the stupid jokes she found funny, and the self-doubt she had. I wanted her to feel that there was no point in this self-doubt. That she was already enough. That she had nothing left to prove, simply by being who she was. She thought she had to do all these things to reach what she thought she should be. But she had not realised she was already there. A perfect human being. There was nothing that needed to be added, only the space to be fully herself."

As my friend listened to me, I could see he had felt exactly these things over the last few weeks. No words were needed to express that we understood each other, so a silence followed after my last words — a silence that felt like peace. After some time, I turned to my friend and said, "So, what do you do with all this love that you feel if you cannot express it to her anymore?" To which my friend replied, "I channel this love I feel for her and set it free in this world. It lets me feel the same love for the tea waiting at home on the couch, for the neighbour's cat asking to be petted, or for the rain tickling the windows after a long summer day."

It was at that moment that I knew that, if, as in the movie "Before Sunrise" I had just one day left with her. If I could choose again whether to send her that voice memo telling her how special she was to me, I would send it again. A million times. Because this journey has given me a taste of the richness of life. Although the flavour is a bittersweet one, I would rather taste this than the dullness of playing it safe.