It is said that within the vast expanse of existence, the smallest unit of society is the family.
Each member of the family, in both inner and outer realms, presents themselves to ensure the continuity and strength of this group.
And love,
Love is the force that brings forth the beauty and endurance of this union,
In its entirety—both in word and in meaning.
The grandeur and resilience of this concept depend on the loving interactions among its members.
Within the circle of these interactions, the notion of play, childlike in its essence, accompanies us, manifesting itself in myriad forms across this world.
Colors, symbols, shining and dim, transparent and glossy, and in circular patterns adorning the vastness of the earth—
These are the tools and toys of a child’s game, ever-present with us.
The circularity, in a sense, is a reversed habit, ceaselessly intertwined with our lives.
To ignore it is to partake in another game—a game where a spherical, enticing ball seduces us,
And in this intoxicated play, the essence and true identity are left behind.
“A child at play removed his clothes in jest,
A thief approached and stole his cloak and vest.
Yet, so absorbed was he within his game,
He forgot his hat and shirt—both name and frame.”
— Molana (Rumi)
