To understand one’s suffering

To understand one’s suffering

Is to understand our own,

Knowing causes pain—

But still with hope we try

To understand one’s suffering

Is to be on their side, regardless

Of the awful many cuts

Through the tenderness of night—

Their aim is (not) to heal

But still with hope we lie,

To understand one’s suffering(…)

Like fruit picked from a vine.

Whatever you decide, do it without the need for validation—we are one.

Whatever you decide, do it without the need for validation.

To seek validity is but a farce. It’s like aiming to make a splash in a rain puddle.

A child learns early on whether they care to admit it or not, that their choice is theirs and theirs alone. Nobody really cares more than it takes them to realize, eventually with age, that nobody really cares.

Sure, a mother cares deeply, but only as far as it interrupts her well being.

A father can break his back many times, but only as many times as it serves his cause.

Progression doesn’t come from an audience. Progression comes from within.

Progression comes from love, awareness, and nurture.

And although social media tells a different story from reality, we seek it, crave it, we often need it, but do we really?

Perhaps the greatest lesson we can learn from posting our day to day lives, morality, and hardships is that we are all equally as alone as we are the same—myself included.

Not too long ago, there was a time, it seemed, the world was much larger than we could ever imagine.

Driving cross country felt then like an achievement whereas now—after doing it more than a dozen times—it feels more like a routine I’d rather not admit.

Mostly it’s this that scares me.

Desensitization. It’s this that makes me wonder.

What’s the point?

The point is to treat yourself with the same dignity you would a stranger—a child.

The point is to look beyond life’s blessings, with eyes wide shut, and understand that all will be regardless of whatever validation you seek.

We can learn this by simply looking at a flower bloom. We can understand this by accepting that although, it may seem, the flower dies, another will take its place, as equally and wholly as beautiful as its former.

So whatever you decide, decide knowing, you aren’t as separate as you feel—we are all one.

Long Island Cottage, 2012

Norwegian wood aglow

Actually I am, as

Real as they come

I see us in Alaska

Enchanted we are one, so

Love me lovely star seed

My hand is yours to hold

Among the valleys

Northern lights

Norwegian wood aglow

one page at a time.

I sit, and read:

—”Comparisons are odious.”—

sipping, my tea

with birds feeling studious.

It’s calm.

I am happy.

Counting my blessings,

one page at a time.

silent is the night

Happiness &

Sadness

bleed

into one

single

droplet, which

slowly

falls

from cheek

to chin, while

the sun sets

and small houses

glow

I’m reminded

it’s not over

yet —

silent is the night —

it’s still

so

far

from

the beginning.

this one.

You can’t win

because it’s life

and there’s

nothing to win

just death

and then

whatever it is

you believe

will happen next.

For me I’ll be

reincarnated

to live

another life.

I just hope it’s

as strange

and weird

and cruel

and wonderfully

disastrous as

this one.

Maybe one

with less love

and more

true love.

Maybe not.