I believe there are no “other halves” in romantic relationships. The reason masochistic souls wander the planet in proud solitude is their sacred belief that not just anyone will do—that “such a person has not been born yet.” Defining a woman or man as “someone’s dream” limits our possibilities in who we think we can build relationships with.
Anyone can build a relationship with anyone—by default. I’m not saying that some perfectly polished, tuberose-scented gazelle from Majorca should abandon her dreams and offer her heart to the first homeless man she meets. But even deeply intellectual, multi-faceted people engage in transactions—not necessarily of money, but for comfort. So she doesn’t have kids, so he doesn’t have a mustache, so she doesn’t run her own business, so he doesn’t watch football. Trite examples, but the point is clear…
This attitude shuts us off from the simple, vital process of communication—interaction with others, the most important and valuable experience we can have in this world. Without it, life loses its meaning. Imagine a world where there is only you, no communication—Robinson Crusoe nearly lost his mind before he found Friday.
The infinity symbol in relationships—the endless flow of love, creation, and true happiness—comes alive when two Whole Os connect. These Os are perfect circles or round zeros. Why zeros? Because to reach that profound depth of life, you must be in the zero state—a place of no reaction, no resistance, pure presence. Life, at its core, is empty and without fixed meaning. But in the center of that Zero, that emptiness contains everything.
It’s like black and white: white isn’t just one color but the sum of all colors combined. In that zero state, you hold all possibilities, all experiences—everything flows without limitation. The connection of two whole zeros creates infinite space for love and creation to unfold naturally, without struggle or expectation.
In short, that’s the gist. You need to look deeper—into the eyes, not the bags beneath them. The world is full of love. Yet we run from it, insisting love must come packaged with a Chanel monogram (figuratively speaking), sealed with platinum wax.
