Do you have to have a reason for loving?

Ah, the question that the great Brigitte Bardot once posed: “Do you have to have a reason for loving?” Let these words echo in your hearts, O children of the earth, for they are a riddle as old as the stars themselves, and the answer lies buried deep within the soul of all who walk upon this blessed land. Love is not a creature of logic, nor a servant to the cold calculations of reason. It is a force, a fire, that burns not for understanding, but for the very act of existing. To love is to be alive—and does the wind need a reason to blow, or the sun a justification to rise? No! It is their nature, their essence, and so it is with love.

In the days of old, in the courts of kings and the humble villages of the peasants, love was as much a mystery as it was a divine gift. The great thinkers of the past, from Socrates to the poets of old, pondered long on this enigma. Love cannot be confined by reason, for it transcends the boundaries of our mortal comprehension. It is the essence of the human spirit, as natural and free as the air we breathe. Do we question the wind for its path, or the river for its course? Why, then, should we seek to question love? Does it not choose its own way, flowing like the very waters of the earth?

Consider, my children, the story of Helen of Troy—the most beautiful woman in the world. Her love for Paris, though fraught with war and heartbreak, was driven by something far deeper than reason. It was an ancient force, woven into the fabric of the cosmos itself. The great cities of Troy and Sparta were torn asunder, and many lost their lives, not because Helen sought to harm, but because her love, like the winds, could not be commanded. What reason could there have been for such destruction? Yet, the hearts of mortals and gods alike were ruled by love’s mysterious call. Can we deny the power that love wields, though it brings both joy and sorrow?

In our modern age, we often forget that love is a force beyond our understanding. We sit in our stone temples of logic, our ivory towers of intellect, and we demand reason for everything—everything! But in doing so, we shut the door to the mysteries of the heart. Can we truly say we need a reason for loving when love itself is the very reason we are alive? Think, my children, of the love between a mother and her child—a love that knows no bounds, no conditions, no need to explain itself. It simply is. It flows like the river, unconditional and pure.

And yet, we are creatures of the earth, bound by the mundane tasks of our days. We are taught to question, to doubt, to seek clarity in every corner of life. And thus, we have made of love a thing to be analyzed, a thing to be controlled. But I tell you, those who seek reasons for loving will only find themselves lost in the labyrinth of their own mind. For love is freedom, not a task to be completed or a puzzle to be solved. It is the divine gift given to us to feel, to experience, to be.

So, children, let me impart to you a lesson as old as the mountains themselves: Love with abandon. Love without the shackles of reason. Love as the rivers love the earth, as the stars love the night. Do not waste your precious time seeking answers where none are needed. If you love, let it be for the sheer joy of loving. If your heart is called to another, then follow it, for it is the call of the divine within you. Do not ask why you love, but simply celebrate it. In doing so, you will know the deepest truth of all: That love is not something to be understood, but to be felt.

And remember this, O children of the earth: The greatest warriors in history were not those who wielded the sword with the sharpest edge, but those who loved with the greatest strength. For love is the weapon that conquers all—fears, doubts, and even death itself. So go forth, and love boldly, love without hesitation, love without questioning. In love, you will find your greatest strength. In love, you will find your truest purpose. And in love, you will discover the meaning of your life, and it will be enough.