Love and Ear Pulling

We named our dog Guru on purpose.  By the time we actually got him, we knew (becuase the process of getting him was lessoning in itself) that he was going to be a great teacher.  And that's what Guru means--teacher. 

He's just about the sweetest thing ever. He's unconditionally loving, forgiving and compassionate.  He doesn't hold shit against me, nor does he try to angle me for more of what he might think he needs.  He's gentle, playful and enthusiastic.  He's a blessing in an 80 pound shaggy black dogsuit.

We were playing with him last night.  We were playing "pull your ears off," one of his favorite games.  He was bounding about, dancing and dodging, yipping a playful doggie lovesong.  He ran after an imaginary something or other, only to return for some more earplay.  As he galumphed off yet again, I said, "I love my dog--but probably not well enough."

That got me to thinking.  Do I love anything well enough?  Has there ever been a situation, person, condition in my life where I was able to love well enough?  Have I ever loved as hard as I could, as well as I could?

My saboteur tells me, "Nope."  My ego tells me, "Well, you sure have tried..."  My heart tells me that the notion of loving well enough is really weird, and might even be irrelevant depending on the standard for comparison.

Is the urge to love well enough a healthy human state in which our desires--both boon and bane--help us surge forward into more and greater ways of loving?

Or is it utterly neuro, a psychotic state in which such uncertainty and fear arise that love becomes no longer the object of living but the subject of a skitzy internal discourse--and a distraction?

My jury's still out on this one.  Until I understand what loving well enough really means, I will continue to pull my dog's ears off and listen to the Universe for the yips of a lovesong that I too can sing with all my heart.