We live immersed in a terror of death. That needs to be accounted for when we examine our own individual attitudes toward end of life. Which, of course, is a complete oxymoron. There is no end of life. Bodies appear and disappear, is all.
The prison of personality chokes off love by first inhibiting and finally denying spontaneity. Perfect behaviour is spontaneous behaviour. Love doesn’t calculate. It cares nothing for results. Love’s reward is the action itself.