It’s all about love, it’s yours for the giving
It’s all about love, it’s time we start living
We’re all in jail, but we hold the key
To free ourselves for eternity.
It’s all about love, it’s here not above
It fits like a glove, it’s all about love
You can huff and puff, act rough and tough
Say you’ve had enough of my fluffy stuff.
But it’s all about love, how much can you give?
It’s all about love, how deep can you live?
Don’t let your soul be sold
Don’t let your heart grow cold
Let love take a hold
Of you and make you bold.
It’s all about love, it’s really real
All about love, that’s how I feel
It’s all about love, there’s a world to heal
All about love, can we make a deal?
What the world needs now is love, sweet love. It’s the only thing that there’s just too little of.
And in the end, the love you take is equal to the love you make.
I agree, I agree, wholeheartedly...
Some years ago, my dear friend and I traveled to Europe for three weeks. A busy family man with a dolphin swim tour business in Honolulu and a first-time visitor to The Old World, he was thrilled about the itinerary (Italy, Holland and Norway) I had planned - and the opportunity to cure his ‘island fever’ with a prescription of continental exotica.
Furthermore, rather than reside in impersonal hotels or pensions, we would be guests in the homes of several friends I had made in cosmopolitan Goa, India.
One brilliant balmy afternoon we were relaxing al fresco in one of Amsterdam’s 300 ‘special’ cafes. Space was limited and it was crowded so we shared a table with three others from the USA - two women and a man, all-around 30.
Cannabis tends to relax us and open our minds, so our conversation about the “Meaning of Life” commenced on an amicable note. However, some tension gripped the atmosphere when one of the young ladies, glaring spitefully and spewing venom, took umbrage with my remarks.
She vociferously defended her opinion, taking my rebuttals personally, as I did hers. That was, I confess, foolish, dumb and a waste of time. You can’t influence people, alter their minds or make friends by pointing fingers or barking at them.
By the time I suggested a suitable restaurant for their taste and budget and they rose to depart, peace had largely prevailed, though. We all exchanged fond farewells, for the most part. On their way, the other woman, her reflective friend, who was a staffer for a congressman in Washington, D.C., approached me for a goodbye hug.
Having had a front-row seat for the confrontation between her friend and I, she had reached her own conclusion: that nothing mattered nearly as much as her advice, which was brief but cogent and pithy.
Holding me close, she softly spoke this gem in my ear: “It's all about love.”