231112 - Sorrow and pain

A small glimpse in the corner of her eye. A beautiful, sunny day, offering everything except that which the morning had promised. That’s just what life is: slightly unsatisfying. Oh so vibrant, but never what we want it to be. Christmas lights are shining outside our window, time passing through. Maybe we’re the ones passing through, nothing but nomads in a world we try to fool ourselves into thinking is lasting. The foolishness of nostalgia screams out from a still-beating heart, its echoes resonating in the hollow mind of a walker. All the more so because of the struggle, independence is sought from a Self who denies the fact of his interdependence. Where was he born, that mythical he? The fact lingers, is swept up like yesterdays dust; finds itself in the trashbin our vigilant systems empty every tuesday morning. The great snow lands of Tibet, now, as everywhere else, conquered by a people afraid of its resilient persistence; even there we hear the epics of the man not born from a mothers womb. There, a lotus. Here, we find him in the stable: Mary too innocent to know the happiness and sorrow every Mother lives her life learning to endure. Yes, we might try to resist it, longing for something that could be called everlasting, that could be called perfect: chased by another name as True. But such a thing never was, and wherever we look, the harder we look, satisfaction is not what is there. Despite our best efforts tomorrow the sun shines all the more, its bright rays blessing the world with another day. Outside kids are playing in the yard, and their happy shouts remind me to get out of bed. Yet another day dawns, and we shall be all the more empowered reminding ourselves to approach it with a lingering smile.