creating some words of beauty, out of moments of suffering, have been crucial for taking me out of my mind space.

writing is a process of gathering, of threading narratives between events that may, as we first encounter them, seem distinct, separate, distinguishable. but the emotions that they conjure, from one encounter to the next, are a sequence. they connect, they link and sometimes, they combine in that sinking feeling, or that empty sadness, or that nostalgic loss, or that weight that hangs my spirit.

so writing, the mixing of sensation and the evocation of feelings, the semblance of a journey, intentioned, sensible, by the mere fact that an image is conjured, one after another, to the reader, by me, intentionally. it is a patchwork design i can create out of this everyday suffering.

my suffering is not dramatic. i have decided to stop using the term “drama” to describe my feelings, or the difficult interactions I have with people around me. It washes out the meaning, it is too imprecise, and it makes my emotions feel wasteful, excessive, senseless.

but emotions are not senseless. they are not irrational. they can be unreasonable, but they are not irrational. there is a cause, and there is effect. and tho the cause may be distant, invisible to my eyes, unknown to me, and the effect of those distant causes so stark in my face, so jarring and occasionally, so painful and so heavy, it still nonetheless comes from somewhere.

and today, i am faced with them. in my existence in this world, i face another’s suffering as they face mine. we don’t know where the cause came from. in moments of deep awareness, we discover the causes, and we trace it to the daily effects these causes lead us to. but other times, it is unknown to us, and we dont ask, we dont seek. we simply face each other, superificially. as phenomenons, without a history, without a story, without cause.

and so that is suffering. it is our daily perpetuation of these shallow interactions that perceive only phenomena, not cause, not effect. it is much easier this way. we hide when we tire of phenomena, until we realize that when we treat others as phenomena without cause, without effect, we too, become unable to seek deeper into our own causes and effects. we too, lose our own storylines.

and it is with great compassion that great suffering can be seen. compassion is not politically correct, not liberal, not niceness. compassion is an honesty and a willingness to address, to confront if necessary, to dig, deeper. to seek narratives in others, not mere phenomena, not mere vignettes…

 

 

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