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Ah, the neglect of a parent. The fallout of a friendship. Or the betrayal of your dearest. The grief of loss. The raging of war and the sting of defeat, the shame of falling short. Hell lingers; it follows even the quietest steps, even when the heart grows numb, even when the world looks calm.
All of these things happened, and yet what I do now is purely up to me. I can clearly see the lessons; I can clearly see that in each situation, each person was a messenger. He showed me what had always been inside of me. She made me look at the pain I had neglected, the people I had hurt, the shame and anger I carried, and the ways I had betrayed myself.
A divine message of reflection, a perfect mirror to my own world. Without them, I might never have seen how much power the past still held over me. I might never have recognized the shame and resentment I still harbored toward my fellow. I might never have remembered what I needed to write the most painful chapters of my story, the story I was born to tell.
If it hadn’t happened, perhaps I would have learned the lessons through someone else in far more painful ways. I am grateful that it was not as bad as it could have been. It cut deep and sharp in such a shallow place, and it allowed me to see the gravity of my ignorance before it was too late.
Yet it still hurts. It hurts like death and hopelessness, like losing the will to go on. Despite the triviality of the events and my excitement for this self-discovery, despite my thankfulness and insight, despite knowing it was necessary and important, it still hurts like striking my head against a brick. Emotions I thought I had overcome overwhelmed me unexpectedly, and I could do nothing but watch as they took over my reason. They pulled me to their whims like gravity, and I, powerless to stop them, wept in shame. I was supposed to know better, after all. I was supposed to celebrate the lessons, to forgive all offenses, to forget promptly. And it hurt even more that I could not move on. Oh it’s so easy to forgive when you feel well and strong. Why, after all my hard work, none of my means for feeling better prevailed. My own advice passed through me like a ghost through the walls. The love and support of my loved ones was suddenly not enough. Surrounded by so much beauty and perfection, accomplishment after accomplishment, young and ready to live for so much more, I still wept over spilled milk. I could not make sense of it. I could not be proud of it, I wanted to hide from the world.
And even in that storm I knew, I saw: I needed to stand still and bear the heavy rain I always ran from, face the thunder that terrified me to the bone. I had forgotten it was all right to feel without judgment, and forgetting that, had brought me to sink with the pain, to erupt at my hour of weakness and bring me this lesson. Oh, I see now: I never truly knew what was good for me, and perhaps I never will. Things never happen the way we think they should; they simply happen, and what we do with them is our only possession.
I have no choice but to endure and acknowledge that no reason or logic is needed for my humanity, no justification exists for my anger, no cure exists for sadness. They are all colors of a painting in progress, and though I may not know what the outcome will be, I know that one day I will look back at this canvas and realize how small it all was, how utterly and beautifully unimportant.
And then, this too shall pass.
All of these things happened, and yet what I do now is purely up to me. I can clearly see the lessons; I can clearly see that in each situation, each person was a messenger. He showed me what had always been inside of me. She made me look at the pain I had neglected, the people I had hurt, the shame and anger I carried, and the ways I had betrayed myself.
A divine message of reflection, a perfect mirror to my own world. Without them, I might never have seen how much power the past still held over me. I might never have recognized the shame and resentment I still harbored toward my fellow. I might never have remembered what I needed to write the most painful chapters of my story, the story I was born to tell.
If it hadn’t happened, perhaps I would have learned the lessons through someone else in far more painful ways. I am grateful that it was not as bad as it could have been. It cut deep and sharp in such a shallow place, and it allowed me to see the gravity of my ignorance before it was too late.
Yet it still hurts. It hurts like death and hopelessness, like losing the will to go on. Despite the triviality of the events and my excitement for this self-discovery, despite my thankfulness and insight, despite knowing it was necessary and important, it still hurts like striking my head against a brick. Emotions I thought I had overcome overwhelmed me unexpectedly, and I could do nothing but watch as they took over my reason. They pulled me to their whims like gravity, and I, powerless to stop them, wept in shame. I was supposed to know better, after all. I was supposed to celebrate the lessons, to forgive all offenses, to forget promptly. And it hurt even more that I could not move on. Oh it’s so easy to forgive when you feel well and strong. Why, after all my hard work, none of my means for feeling better prevailed. My own advice passed through me like a ghost through the walls. The love and support of my loved ones was suddenly not enough. Surrounded by so much beauty and perfection, accomplishment after accomplishment, young and ready to live for so much more, I still wept over spilled milk. I could not make sense of it. I could not be proud of it, I wanted to hide from the world.
And even in that storm I knew, I saw: I needed to stand still and bear the heavy rain I always ran from, face the thunder that terrified me to the bone. I had forgotten it was all right to feel without judgment, and forgetting that, had brought me to sink with the pain, to erupt at my hour of weakness and bring me this lesson. Oh, I see now: I never truly knew what was good for me, and perhaps I never will. Things never happen the way we think they should; they simply happen, and what we do with them is our only possession.
I have no choice but to endure and acknowledge that no reason or logic is needed for my humanity, no justification exists for my anger, no cure exists for sadness. They are all colors of a painting in progress, and though I may not know what the outcome will be, I know that one day I will look back at this canvas and realize how small it all was, how utterly and beautifully unimportant.
And then, this too shall pass.
Category Artwork (Digital) / All
Species Unspecified / Any
Size 1400 x 789px
File Size 967.5 kB
I'm just gonna say, this so so well Drawn and so Well written.
I can't say i'm fully understand all of it even tho i feel like i do. Looking at the drawing while reading it, it's like being taken there, to experience part of it, of that Rainstorm. Really touch with depth on a personal level.
Wonderful.
I can't say i'm fully understand all of it even tho i feel like i do. Looking at the drawing while reading it, it's like being taken there, to experience part of it, of that Rainstorm. Really touch with depth on a personal level.
Wonderful.
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