Updated: Nov 30, 2019
I’ve stopped crying. Not for others, for myself.
This concerns me.
Not because I like crying, particularly. But, because it frightens me to think to what dark, shuttered corners my most shattering emotions have skittered to.
Not that I feel numb. I feel blocked, like an artery. Not a small estuary that can develop alternative rivulets or capillaries - a major artery, carrying life supporting oxygen to brain, heart and lungs which no longer performs its function.
I need to cry again. To unburden the bombardment of images and soundbites, the daily reminders of lost dreams, the endless tiny deaths by a thousand insults, veiled and unveiled, from strangers and purported loved ones.
Tears that might, if only for a few moments, blur the too starkly vivid reality that my small contribution cannot change the world. That I cannot stop the greedy from taking all. That I cannot stop the angry from taking revenge. That I cannot stop the oppression that sets in motion a chain of starvation and violence that encircles my beautiful, but ruthless planet.
Tears will not change the fact that something has to die in order that something else may live - in this, our current version of conscious waking.
Tears will not convince those who have gained power and wealth through lies and misdeeds that our greatest strength and uniqueness lies in our ability to cooperate, not in our ability to construct false narratives to obscure strategies for looting the masses for the benefit of a privileged few.
Tears cannot illuminate. They do not grow the human. They can only provide much-needed release of the coal to diamond pressure generated by our time spent navigating disingenuous religions, self-serving histories, hidden abuses and unexpected betrayals.
Tears cannot soften the blow of impressions formed by misinformation. They can only help to regulate the sanity and equilibrium of the one who sheds them.
I need to cry again.