I want children full of love, in joy, who do not worry in the seek, who live in me, for me and in the delicacy of this love.
Above all love
A hidden inheritance
- of Francesco Arista and Antonella Molica
Argument
- → 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.
- → If the son looks inside himself silently, he begins to reflect with love, detached from what damages and fills his thoughts, his reason, his heart, finally he manages to find me, he is in my presence, he finds himself, me, his and my origins, he knows deeply the love, the light, the balance lost wandering in the inconstant world.
- → In search of love over time, the divine being becomes corrupted and materialized, then recovers what he had lost, enriching himself in multiplicity.
- → Nervous, habitual, profound emotional inconstancy is painful, lacking in self-confidence and in one's own purposes, but it can always evolve in the search and in the pursuit of a better state.
- → Reaching a degree of such a condition is not difficult, is to abandon, to trust in me, to be possessed, to recognize this love and to be transformed from love.
- → I want my children to have more abandonment, trust and listening towards me, not to let themselves be taken by discouragement, disappointment, the inconsistency of the world, to rejoice in every moment lived with me, for me, and to confide in me.
- → I always bless my children who listen to my teachings, who let themselves be led by me, who rejoice in this revelation, who love me, who love themselves as sons and recognize the lineage between me and them.
- → Have faith, I'm not leaving you.
- → 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