It’s not always what you think.

I thought I was mad.  I thought I was fat.  I thought I had to change a routine that’s been working for me for some time now.  I thought I had something to fix.  About myself, about my circumstances, about the shit I think I see and have something to do about.

But I wasn’t, and I didn’t.  I finally got where to I was going and sat down, and when I closed my eyes the overwhelming and piercing sadness came through my heart, and tears began to fall.

I am not mad.  I am not full of rage.  I am not fucking fat- I am devastated.  I am terrified that someone close to me is going to die, and there is nothing I can do about it.  It is heartbreaking to know that this is the truth: that there is nothing you can do for the people around you when they don’t want what you have. 

I was sad.  I am sad.  I didn’t want to feel sad.  I don’t want to feel sad.  Sad is soft.  Sad is slow.  Sad is quiet.  Sad is timeless and patient and honestly, sad is kind.  That is not my preference: I like hard, fast, loud, now, yesterday, and fierce.  I want power, not weakness.  And when I’m sad, despite my inner knowing that it is true, I feel weak.  I feel powerless.  I feel…

Present.  And all of those layers covering up and distracting me from the truth, the truth that sadness is real and pain is visceral some times and the heart aches for what it can’t mend.  Those layers shadow and block us from the sunlight of the spirit, and pull us away from ourselves.  I don’t want to be pulled away.  I want to be close, because I want to be available.  I want to be available in case of a miracle.  And if I’m too busy looking at the shiny bullshit over there in the corner that I think I see reflecting back in the mirror at me, I will miss what is happening right here and right now, and I might miss the miracle.

Or I might miss all of it.  I choose not to miss.  Because I’ve missed enough already.

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