is a reminder of who we are. It is the inward projected outwards. What we perceive to be separate from us, to be affecting us, is merely our opinion in opposition to it.
How can this be so?
It is because we ourselves are conflicted. Conflicted by belief which shapes and contours experience but is never in communion with it. Belief demands that everything conform to it. The most fundamental belief being that of our story.
We cannot be objective about reality when we have opinions about it, and are vested in a particular outcome. Which is the conformity of our belief. The idea of who we are.
In that, there is no room for love. For love is without idea.