A reflection on real love, illusion, and the treasure within
I awoke not with pain in my leg, but with a quiet ache in the soul.
A question surfaced—not of the body, but of something deeper and more enduring: What is love, and why do we struggle to truly find it?
Since early childhood, I have known experiences of cruelty, betrayal, and confusion—often from those who, in their own way, believed they loved me. Family. Partners. Friends. For many years, I lived inside this question. How can love feel like harm? Why does something spoken so easily feel so difficult to trust?
I wondered, as many do: Was it me? Was I somehow unworthy? Or were we all moving within a misunderstanding of what love truly is?
The Fish
One day, a simple image came to me. A young woman says to an old man,
“I love fish.” He asks her why. She replies, “Because it tastes so good, and it’s good for me.”
The old man smiles gently and says,
“Then you do not love the fish. You love what it does for you.”
Something in me recognised the truth of this immediately. Not as judgement—but as clarity.
Much of what we call love is shaped by need. By comfort. By how someone makes us feel. And this is not wrong. It is simply human. But it is not the whole story.
The Ache We Cannot Name
There is an ache many people carry, often quietly. A sense that something is missing, even when life appears full. In yogic understanding, this is sometimes described as avidya—a forgetting of our deeper nature. We search for something we cannot quite name. So, we look for it in people, in connection, in being seen and valued. And while these bring moments of warmth, they do not fully resolve the longing.
Because what we are seeking is not something that can be given or taken away.
Turning Inward
Over time, through experience rather than theory, something began to shift in me. I started to see that much of what we call love is, in part, a reflection: People responding to how they feel in our presence, and to what we offer, or even to what is mirrored back to them.
Again—this is not a failing. It is a learned way of relating. But slowly, I stopped searching for something complete in places that could only offer something partial. And very gently, I turned inward. Not dramatically. Not all at once. But enough to begin noticing something that had always been there.
The Quiet Presence Within
Beneath the noise of seeking, there is a quieter presence. Steady. Unmoved. Not dependent on circumstance. You might call it the Self. Or simply a sense of being.
It does not arrive when everything is perfect. It is there, even amid difficulty. And when it is felt—not as an idea, but as a lived experience—something softens. The search becomes less urgent.
The Gem Beneath the Surface
What we often seek in the world is, in a different form, already within us. Not as a concept, but as a quiet, enduring presence. The world still moves. Relationships still matter. Life continues in all its complexity. But something changes in how we meet it.
There is less grasping.
Less needing things to complete us.
More space to simply be.
Moving Differently
At times, I think of this as moving through life like a vessel on open water. The seas are not always calm. There are still winds, still change. But there is a steadiness that was not there before.
Less reaching outward for confirmation. More resting in something that does not fluctuate in the same way. Not separate from life—but no longer entirely shaped by it.
A Gentle Reflection
If there is an ache in you—one that feels difficult to name—you are not alone. It does not mean something is wrong. It may simply be pointing you, very quietly, inward. Not away from the world, but toward a deeper relationship with yourself.
Because perhaps the most enduring form of love is not something we find. But something we come to recognise. Something that has been present all along.
And has never left.
By Lala Menen
About the Author
Lala Menen is a movement and somatic practitioner, a yoga teacher, researcher and author offering gentle, restorative practices that help the body release tension, calm the nervous system, and restore ease of movement.
Her work is an exploration of how the body holds, adapts, and eventually lets go.
Blending somatic practice with quiet contemplative awareness, she offers a gentle approach to restoring ease in the modern body—one that listens rather than forces and allows change to emerge naturally.
Author of The Soma Awakens Understanding SMA and how to undo tense holding patterns in the body to reduce common aches and pains. Author ofRelease — A practical guide to easing tension and restoring ease in the modern body (Coming Soon)