The question of gratitude is the question of love, and for the man or woman who loves one and not another, there is the deepest sorrow, the most profound pain. And the love of a mother is like a flower which blossoms to give its fragrance to every passer-by whether he be from here or there, of this color or that color, of this particular type or that. The flower of the love of a mother gives its fragrance to all, and if one is wise one will breathe that fragrance, bask in it, rejoice in it, live in it, exist in it, and die in it.
From the love which is small, which divides, with conflicts, which entangles, which is corruptible, you reach to that ecstatic and transcendental love which does not entangle, which does not divide, which does not conflict, a love which is incorruptible. That love begins with the mother.
Love is existence. Existence is love. Existence begins with the mother. Ergo, all love springs from the love a mother bears her child. Only in that pure and true love can there be gratitude. The gratitude, the right kind, if there is one, is for the force of life. And life begins with the mother. It is her pain that brings life. It is only her agony. It is only ever her magic.
You see, is it much move lovely and loving, much more peaceful, much more tranquil, much more serene, much calmer to love everyone alike. To really hold each and every thing in existence in your heart, and not to be indifferent to any one particular individual or a thing.
When you have such undivided love for every single particle in this field of existence, you are incorruptible. Your love is incorruptible. When you have such an unbounded love, you learn from everything that moves and everything that remains still, from everything transient and small, and everything eternal and the Universally heavenly.
The love a mother holds in her heart for her child is incorruptible, unshakable, and unwavering.