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
- → The origin of your insecurity is not me, it is you who seek in a world that cannot give certainties, which can only give seduction and deception.
- → You, children, need a huge quantity of love, which has not to be sought in the world, has to be sought in me, who am endless love.
- → 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.
- → My child like you pursues, needs to reach a tormented, sick love, that is not, does not exists, does not make happy and that is the world.
- → My children are woven of love, for this love need they are driven to the streets of the world, where they seek love and freedom to love.
- → 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.
- → My children struggle, climb, in a life that passes in trouble, in the poverty of love, of reason, they believe they are limited, they have thoughts that do not develop towards me, ears that do not listen, a heart as big as the mine, which they themselves limit in love.
- → When you can not find the way, listen in silence, with love, do not confuse me, your father, pure love with the world that is not pure and that is not love.
- → Today, every day, I am here with you, I look at you, I listen to you, I hold you by the hand, in my heart, in my thoughts, so tight as to make me feel in my whole being, to make you stop, detach from the things of the world. and really look for 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