Murky waters

All things are surrendered in the end. The lights dance at the end of the earth and twinkle out of sight. It seems as though existence chuckles at the questions we ask… for its laid itself bare in the night sky, the universe doesn’t care… but the greatest irony is that life exists and we’re still here. In the mist, in the shadows… in conversations 10 years old. I found parts of my younger self, authentic in the expressions of her sadness.

i am no longer that younger self or the older version of that self… but intensely aware of the fine line between my conscious mind and the unconscious within and the underpinnings of what formed me. i love the messiness of life, the truth and the peace that can be found, like the acrobat balanced in the middle of a tightrope. structure, for the myriad of purposes it can serve, not the least, for showing up.

from the darkness is how you discern the light. from cruelty is how you learn compassion. from insecurity is how you learn worthiness. not always, but suffering… is often the greatest, the hardest and the darkest teacher to learn from.

to believe that we will never experience something we cannot endure… is to believe that there is something more that exists… than ourselves… even if the answer is simply that we are enduring it. And should we die, then all suffering has ceased. we have reached the end point of our endurance.

This poem from Rumi is coming to mind.

the wound is where the light enters you.


Take morality out of it. Leave something as it is. Without the need to condemn, shame… abhor… or the opposite… venerate, praise… place upon a pedestal. But then, it is human, to entwine our stories with our beliefs.

Is it human… to want to ease the suffering of another… is it human… to also want to see another suffer? Is it human, to be curious and without empathy… and is it human… to be empathic without curiosity? and is it human, to be empathic and curious? is it human, to be dualistic, to conceive any idea possible and execute on it? is it human, to care and not understand? is it human, to understand, and not care? is it human, to care and understand? What then, is not human?

The first time i read Rumi, it was like being opened by simplicity, vulnerability and his love for god, in a curious sense, that this god was not the god i knew. it was like being touched from the heart and not spoken to with the mind. originally, i left this post sitting in my draft and didn’t have an answer to the questions. i still don’t, but it felt like a good time to pull Rumi off the shelves and this poem especially, seemed to peek out at me,

I asked for a kiss,

You gave me six,

From whom did You learn

such mastery?

Full of kindness, generosity …

You are not of this world.

Rumi, translated bt Azima Melita Kolin and Maryam Mafi