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
- → 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.
- → I want every my child do the work of loving me insistently.
- → I want every child of mine looks at me as father, master, looks my love, in himself, because he was created for love, to be my son, for my home, where I live, for eternal and endless life.
- → 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 want you have a great and no little knowledge.
- → 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