In the last four years I have experienced pains that I never thought would come to me. I have felt the searing flames of over-active nerve endings fire off throughout my body. I have taken steps that felt like red-hot coals replaced the cool hospital floors. I have felt the sting of countless needles failing to find their mark, wriggling around in a futile effort to find the crimson life. I have felt the clawing ache of ruined joints, making an effort to dissuade my every move. I have felt the burning sensation of medicine meant to eradicate invasions, slowly atrophy my veins to uselessness. I have felt what happens when the needle meant to find the fluid, finds the spine instead. Through all of that, never has anything hurt more, than loving a person that will always try to keep you close, yet make you feel so far away.
This is a bit of a random story for me to post here, but with the way I’m feeling, this hit me where it counts and I hope it produces a little bit of a good feeling in everyone who takes some time to read it.
Going to work this morning, eagerly listening as Sinatra worked his way into my head, trying to knead out the knots of consternation with his lofty airs. But today he was just falling short and traffic wasn’t doing much to ease the mood.
Along the road there was a construction crew doing work on the center divider that separates the east and west-bound lanes at an intersection where a BART railway crosses the road. The sky was dark and grey, the breeze blew frigid daggers at your cheeks, and the sun wasn’t out to warm the laborers who probably just wanted a hot cup of coffee and an hour more in their own beds. And with it being rush hour their work was halted every time a group of cars trooped by because of how small the divider was and they had yet to set up a barrier.
As it was my turn to drive by, I looked at every one of them standing on the divider, each one grimacing, perhaps at the work they had ahead of them or something else troubling their minds. Their shoulders were slumped, eyes diverted elsewhere, some took a seat on the railing to wait out the passing autos; then I got to the final one in the row. She stood tall with her arms crossed and perched atop a spade that she drove into the loamy earth of the island divider. She showed no signs of reluctance to do the job at hand, no annoyance at the flood of cars making her job more difficult. Instead she smiled wide and directly at each passing car. I don’t know why she was smiling of course; it could have been for anything, or nothing at all. But I could feel the warmth it radiated in the moment, I could feel it seep through my driver’s side window and envelope me with the comfort of a thousand tender embraces and as I passed I couldn’t help but grin like a fool because no matter how terrible things get, no matter how tired you may be of a situation, there is always a silver lining out there. And although it may seem like a small thing to many, for me it was something I had to see, and was glad to see this morning.
-Your Humble Author
My love is a prescription drug
It’s full of cautions and side effects,
Warning of overdose.
It can heal and it can destroy
Though mostly it destroys me…
Sometimes I feel like a pencil that desperately needs to be sharpened.
… does true love still have a place? Or do we love only what we can grasp?
When you see yourself through the distorted lens of depression, you have trouble recognizing your own reflection. You can’t see the seam separating your normal self from the irrational being that calls you its host, and shows none of the courtesies a guest should uphold. The lines blur, and all that’s left is a pain that washes over your heart like a malevolent wave lapping upon your withered soul; a pulsating ache that ebbs with the ever-changing tide of humanity.
It saddens me that in this day and age, the majority of my generation cares more for what we display on the outside, rather than focus on the souls we stow on the inside. Until this trend diminishes, I do not see myself finding true love, but rather ignorant love.
Another note: If only we realized how full of shit each and every one of us really is, this world would be a better place
… that in this day and age, the majority of my generation cares more for what we display on the outside, rather than focus on the souls we stow on the inside. Until this trend diminishes, I do not see myself finding true love, but rather ignorant love.
Hope is everywhere if you look for it.
It is in the green lights you get when you are late for a rendezvous.
It is a newborn baby’s cry, entering the world in a fit of confusion.
It is the seed sprouting its first tendril into the rich soil.
It lies at the bottom of a fountain resting with the desires of many.
Hope transcends in different form to all. But I find it of utmost importance to our human psyche, that we continue to hope in the eye of danger or uncertainty.
For the car you are driving may swerve uncontrollably, negating the lucky-light draw.
The babe may cease its cry due to a cause unseen by the practitioners.
The seed may soon be tainted with ghastly elements we pour into the earth.
And the coin you lay your dreams upon, may never be selected by the Gods.
We cannot allow ourselves to dwell upon those technicalities, for what will happen, will happen uncontrollably, sometimes inexplicably. But with hope, these negating possibilities needn’t bring us down. With hope, the negatives never shine through. They don’t plague our train of thought. With hope, we can simply look toward our desires and feel happy that they are even a possibility in this hectic world.
The tragedy of this world is that no one is happy, whether stuck in a time of pain or joy. The tragedy of this world is that everyone is alone. For a life in the past cannot be shared with the present. Each person who gets stuck in time gets stuck alone
-Alan Lightman in Einstein’s Dreams
A profound snippet from the novel by Alan Lightman. It touches on a subject that I think all of us have had experience with at one point or another. It reflects on our tendencies as humans to look back on our past and in a way, stay stagnant in their memory. It points out that although looking back is quite natural, or unavoidable, that we cannot allow those moments to define our future.