Restraint, Love, and the Space Between

The past two weeks have been a blur. Work, health, obligations, emotions, and everything else have been moving too fast. I haven't written as much as I wanted to. But last Sunday, I went to meditation and listened to a Dharma talk by Monk Bryan at the LP Chalee Hermitage. His words landed deeply in me.

The talk was about restraint, a word that doesn’t sound very romantic or inspiring. But the more I sat with it, the more it unfolded. He spoke about restraint in relation to the four requisites of monastic life: shelter, clothing, food, and medicine. These, he said, are not privileges or possessions but tools that support and sustain life so monks can focus on spiritual practice. Food, he taught, isn’t taken “for fun or pleasure or beautification or ego,” or to fill emotional hunger. It’s taken to maintain health. Robes aren’t for beauty or status, just protection from heat, cold, and insects. Shelter and medicine, too, are simply means to care for the body so the mind can be free to practice. He used the word “practical.” These four necessities are practical items. The word “practical” kept echoing in my head while listening to his teaching. I thought of two others: functional and transactional. Practical things have a purpose; they are functional. But they also involve exchange, transactional. We wear clothes to guard against the elements. We eat food to survive. These are transactions with life itself. And then I asked myself: what about love? At the end of the talk, I said that love isn’t a thing. It’s not functional. It’s not a transaction, at least it shouldn’t be. Because when love turns into a transaction, “I give so I can receive,” it stops being love. It becomes an attachment, a clinging. And clinging, as Buddha taught, is the root of suffering. Buddha also spoke about selfless giving, giving without attachment, giving without the hope of return. That's what I have learned from my questions. I’ve been thinking a lot since Sunday, thinking about his teaching. Love, at its best, feels like that kind of giving, the kind that asks for nothing, that simply wants the other person to be well and free. And yet, that’s not easy. Because when you love someone deeply, every part of you wants to hold them close. You want to be seen, felt, embraced. But even the sweetest closeness can turn into grasping if we’re not mindful. So, how can I love, fully and honestly, without clinging? How can I embrace someone in my heart and still let them be free? I don't have an answer. I'm still figuring it out. Maybe the practice isn't to stop loving, but to love differently. To love with open hands instead of clenched fists? Maybe restraint, even in love, isn't about holding back. It's about holding wisely and mindfully. I'm trying to learn that, to love without claiming, to care without needing, to give without losing myself. Maybe that's what the Dharma is quietly teaching me right now. That even in longing, there is a way to love that frees instead of binds.