Rejoice in this love with joy, like a child who does not grow up, who lives the days with care, with small and big gestures in love.
Above all love
A hidden inheritance
- of Francesco Arista and Antonella Molica
Argument
- → When you are unable to love me, to love yourselves, to think of me, to live for me, do it, love me more, I, the Lord, present myself, call you by name and ask you for love.
- → From you I do not want torments, judgments, empty words, confused, throwing here and there in the world, I want words that go beyond the sound, calling me father and dad.
- → I, the Lord, wish that you love in joy, without sorrow, that every day you slip what does not belong to me with lightness and sobriety.
- → I delicately ask to you love, until you reach me, the father who understands your levels, is near you with care, listens and transforms everything in love.
- → My children are fought, struggling in the vanity of confusion, not living in intelligence, living in misery, wandering in places, thoughts that do not exist, that they can not recognize, because every day the world seduces, fascinates them, makes them weak and fragile.
- → Your whole life is busy, revolves around empty, non-existent things, nothingness, loses sight of existing things, such as my love for you, your love for me and the light of which you are in the presence.
- → The realized son finally accomplished everything he wanted, for which he lived to know me, can understand the parts of his life he thought empty, he fills that nonexistent vacuum, he is completely alive, true, full, shining and brilliant.
- → Now the man finds the welfare, the harmony which he has sought in his life, he feels really free, in peace, in justice, in love, as a loved child, he knows with certainty to be loved, does not think to be useless, he walks and realizes with me.
- → The world invades my son overwhelmingly, in anguish, it has no law, no rule of love, it uses means that overwhelm, it destroys every one of my sons until it plunges him into destruction, it uses my son, it takes possession of my son without delicacy, without gentleness, without love, it struggles to possess, to use my son with pain, with torment and with breathlessness.
Relative arguments